


Support Beam

by Glitchedwings, knowyourrights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1980s AU, Angst, Childhood Friends, Comedy, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Flashbacks, High School AU, M/M, Megstiel - Freeform, Underage (kind of), dcbb2017, party scene, set in the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 10:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchedwings/pseuds/Glitchedwings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowyourrights/pseuds/knowyourrights
Summary: Time: A Friday night, 1983Place: A New Jersey suburbThis is where it all happens. This is where Cas’s story starts.He’s seventeen, and he’s about to fall into a world of sex, pain, euphoria, neon lights, love, drugs, fear, partying, danger and dirt.And Cas swears he’s going to stay grounded in reality through all of this, and he is lying.Because if you’re going to fall, you need to get off the ground at some point.





	1. The Facade

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the DCBB2017! My first year, so I hope you like it! :)
> 
> Thank you to my amazing artist idjitsaviors, LOOK AT ALL THIS JAZZ --> [X](https://idjitsaviors.tumblr.com/post/166971014828/consistent-style-i-dont-know-her-click-on-each)

Thursday 15th October, 1983

 

I flick the lamp off, watching the lightbulb flicker for a second, before collapsing into itself. It's not like I haven't tried to fix it, i just haven't successfully managed, yet. Yet.

I toss the book onto the floor of my room, and it makes a thump sound I'm sure my parents will mutter under their breaths about tomorrow morning. Right now, I have more important things to do. You see, I'm trying to break a world record. I'm going to be the youngest person to ever build a computer.

After tugging my sketchbook out from under my pillow, I start to make adjustments to the design. Moving a screw a few inches down, adding notes about the metal, and mapping out the wires for the fifth time; it's my favourite thing to do.

As I lose myself in the art of blueprinting, I almost fail to hear the rapping at my window. It sounds like leaves knocking against it on a windy day, but louder. I carefully put the sketchbook down and edge my way towards the window, careful to be quiet. Maybe it's an owl, or squirrel.

As I reach it, I take a deep breath, count to three, and rip the curtains apart, to reveal the culprit. It's definitely not an owl.

"Dean?"

Dean is clinging to the roof that sticks out from under my window, his feet slipping on the loose shingle that should have been replaced long ago, just like my lamp. His nails dig into the wood lining the glass panes, while his other hand taps desperately at it.

"Come on, it's freezing out here!" he says, as he notices that I've pulled the curtains back.

I pull the window up, the cold hitting me in an instant, and, with great difficulty, Dean slides through and lands in a heap on my bedroom floor. Before I close the window, I glance out at the yard. Right by the roof that Dean was standing on stands a birch tree, which I assume he climbed to get up here. Ten feet back, our fence stands, and behind that, a house identical to ours, and another wall ten feet back, and so on. The same house, and the same ten feet go on for miles. If I'd never been to Toronto when I was twelve, I would have thought that they were the only houses in the world. They all look the same, with minor differences only visible if you squint. Some have neater yards. On some the paint is more chipped. Some, you need to turn and look the other way when you pass them, because kids from your school live there, and their hollow eyes make you never want to visit their homes, because everyone knows what's going on.

It's a lot like that.

My yard's empty, since it's a cold Fall and we're too old for any purpose that it served before. I remember, when I was younger, Dean and I would spray each other with water pistols, while Sam begged to join in, and Hannah, who was having a "rebellious" phase, sat with a magazine and refused, then shouted at us whenever she got sprayed.

I close the window and turn to face my best friend, who's now standing up and has taken it upon himself to put on one of my sweaters.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Dean gives a smile and shrugs. "I don't know. I was bored. You live close."

Despite being almost 5 months younger than me, Dean's inches taller. Sandy brown hair tumbles over his forehead, growing out from a crewcut. Freckles sprinkle his face and his green eyes glimmer with mischief.

"It's eleven at night, Dean." I fold my arms, pretending that I'm not happy to see him.

"Come on, Cas. Don't you want to show me your blueprints?" He gives a wicked grin, knowing I won't be able to resist the temptation.

"You're a total loser." I say, as I pick up my sketchbook, because Dean knows how to use my weaknesses, and I know that the kid will be the death of me one day. Maybe not directly, but I know that when I finally hit the ground, it'll be because of him and his persuasion.

 

Thursday 5th May, 1977

 

I know I'm not supposed to talk about Dean's mother. No one is.

Dean was nine, and I was ten, and our families were always together. They came over every Saturday, and we'd have a barbecue, or if it was cold, we'd have hot chocolate inside. Our dads would joke around and watch sports and drink beer, and our moms would talk about when we were babies and drink homemade cocktails.

It was the spring of 1977. Dean and I got off the bus at his house, laughing about the look on the substitute teacher's face when it collided with my paper airplane. He grabbed the key, hidden under a potted fern on the porch, and we stepped into the house. It felt weird. Visible dust floated through the air, illuminated by the early afternoon light. Dean noticed it too. It felt too silent. It felt too empty.

"Mom?" Dean called into the seemingly empty house.

No response.

"Mrs Winchester?" I stepped awkwardly into the hallway, wooden floorboards creaking under my cautious feet.

I made my way to the kitchen, while Dean climbed the stairs.

As soon as the floor turned to black and white tiles,I saw her.

Have you ever seen a dead body? If you have, you'll know that you don't just see it. You feel it, hear it, and in the worst cases, smell it. She hung from the ceiling light, what I would later come to know as a noose around her neck, which was purple and vomit-colored from bruising. She hung limply, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, skinny and frail and grey. Rubber-duck-yellow dish gloves covered her hands, which were at my eye level, but the faint outline of a wedding ring on one of her fingers made me want to be sick. Although most of her face was covered by locks of blonde hair, glassy eyes showed through.

She didn't feel like a human. She felt like a mannequin, or a dummy to practice CPR. A facade, made to imitate humanity, but undeniably inhuman, that's what she was. I couldn't bring myself to conjure up the word corpse, because corpses belonged at funerals, and here she was, in my best friend's kitchen.

"Dean-" I started, but he was already by my side. He was already a witness, and he was already smart enough to know what was going on.

After that, the day passed in a blur. I went from moving in slow motion to speeding through everything that comes after a suicide. Dean called the police, and they called my parents. I went home, and my mom made burgers, which I didn't eat. And then I went to bed. I heard Dean's father, John, telling my dad that Dean refused to go into the kitchen for two months.

They tried to put me in therapy; who wouldn't?

I told them that Dean had entered the kitchen first, I hadn't really seen her, I was fine. They bought it. I just pawned my trauma off onto Dean, who was more than willing to take it.

The worst thing, was that all of a sudden, it was like my parents had never been friends with John and Mary. I heard mumbles, half-hidden mutters, shared over coffee early in the mornings, or over wine, far after I was sent to bed.

"You know, we can't be all that surprised. Mary had been suffering from depression for a long time. She was a very unstable woman."

"I heard John's taken up drinking. He's on his way to becoming an alcoholic."

"I just feel sorry for the kids. God knows how this will screw them up."

A woman's death became gossip, because enough people were bored and talked a lot.

God Bless America.

 

Friday 16th October 1983

 

The lazy morning wakes me up before my alarm.

Even the sun creeps over the horizon like it's tired, sluggishly dragging itself into the sky. I roll over, only to be greeted by the cushiony warmth of Dean's body, our faces inches apart. His eyes are closed, so clearly the sun hasn't woken him up. Light breaths slip out from his slightly parted lips, the breeze now in my face. I guess he must have fallen asleep in my bed last night.

I carefully peel the comforter off of me, and clamber out of the bed, my feet landing on Dean's boots, which he at least had the decency to take off before getting into my bed. I stand up and quietly walk over to the closet to find something to wear for the day. I glance quickly at the digital clock on my desk, which reads 06:23. Another forty minutes until I'll have to start my day, so I take advantage of my extra time. I grab a pencil from a desk drawer, along with an empty notebook I'd bought simply because it was on sale. I couldn't help myself.

I've been wanting to write this for a while now. It's not exactly a diary, so don't expect the whole "Dear Diary" thing. It's more of... A memoir. It's a way to record my life and the events in it, not that my life is thrilling.

I fear forgetting things, you see. Something I'm terrified of is not being able to remember things that have happened to me, like my granddad. He had Alzheimer's. When he was still alive, that is.

Just imagine waking up and not knowing what you did the previous day.

And what better way to avoid forgetting things than to write it all down; to record it.

I'm in the middle of describing the thoughts I had waking up when a voice from behind me makes me jump.

"What are you doing?"

I spin around to see Dean sitting on my bed, rubbing his eyes. His hair sticks out at all angles, and part of his flannel shirt is caught on the back pocket of his jeans, pulled back to reveal tanned skin.

"Writing." I reply. My short answers don't bother him; they never have.

"What are ya writing?" He asks, getting up and strolling towards me.

"Nothing much. A description of my life, I suppose." I put down my pen as he approaches, leaning over me to read my work. As his eyes flicker across the page, he lets out a small laugh, just a breath of air slipping through as he smiles.

"My eyes glimmer with mischief?" He asks, quoting the writing.

"I guess they do." I shrug, smiling.

He falls silent as he keeps reading, before letting out a deep breath.

"You wrote about my mom."

"Yeah."

He's silent again for a few more minutes, before standing up and straightening out his clothes.

"Three months." He says quietly, turning away from me and combing through his hair with his fingers.

"What?"

"I didn't go into the kitchen for three months. You wrote two."

"Oh."

Quiet fills the room again, until I speak up.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have written that. I'll rip the page out." I say hastily, flipping back to where I mentioned Dean's mother. It was a stupid idea.

"No, no, don't ruin your work on account of me. I guess she's part of your life as much as mine." Dean flops back onto my bed, and the bed springs creak under his weight. I glance over at him, to see him close his eyes as though he's going back to sleep.

 

***

 

The kitchen tiles feel cold under my feet, even though I'm wearing socks. I pull a jug of juice out of the fridge and pour myself a glass before making a bowl of cereal. I've hardly sat down before Hannah comes bouncing into the room, red velvet sweater and hair tied back.

"'Morning, Cas!" She grins, taking a sip from the jug of juice directly.

"That's disgusting, Hannah." I scrunch my face up.

"What, are you afraid of cooties or something?" She puts her free hand on her hip, takes my silence as her victory of the argument, and takes another sip.

"Also," she starts, after wiping her mouth, "Dad needs the car tonight."

My whiny tone returns when she announces this.

"What? Come on, that's not fair!"

"Cas," she starts, "You can't even drive."

"Jo could drive it. Plus, how else am I gonna get to the Boardwalk?"

Hannah shrugs. "Dunno, that's your problem."

You see, the Boardwalk is where every teenager within a five mile radius of my house goes to. It's a flashing, crazy, uncontrollable, hub of activity. And everyone goes, every single Friday night.

"You're insufferable." I state plainly.

"Don't shoot the messenger."

 

***

 

The lunch table's almost full when I arrive there, after hours of algebra that've pretty much numbed my brain. I like math, but, as it turns out, it's slightly less fun when it's being taught by an annoying bitch.

The only space left is an empty chair nestled between Meg and, of course, Dean. I dump my tray down and the Coca Cola bottle on it rattles and tips over, causing it to bubble up.

"Nice one." Dean comments, taking a bite of his sandwich.

I simply groan in reply. It'll fizz up and overflow, and then be flat in ten minutes. There goes my fifty cents.

Sitting down, I turn to Gabe, whose head is stuck in a newspaper. "What's going on in the world today?"

"Enlighten me, please." Says Meg, in her usual drawl.

Gabe sighs and lowers the paper so he can see us over it.

"Depressing, as usual. They want to redo the Roe v. Wade case ten years later, like some sort of weird reunion. And then there's the usual GRIDs death count, so pretty cheerful stuff, y'know?"

"Fantastic." Meg spits sarcastically.

"I just don't get," Jo starts, waving her hands around exasperatedly on the other side of Meg, "Why they only ever talk about the sad stuff in the news! I saw a puppy wearing a sweater yesterday! Where's that shit in the news?"

"You're right, honey. Sweater puppy is right on par with GRIDs. Why no sweater puppy, Gabe?" She smirks.

"There's a cat in a raincoat, but no sweater puppy. The news really is awful, isn't it?" Gabe feigns shock.

They're making fun of her again, for being a little bit of an airhead. Jo's smart, but she has trouble making people take her seriously. Meg and Gabe are just smarter. They're quicker, and, in some cases, they're meaner. Dean says they'd make good murderers.

 

***

 

My parents hate Hannah's new friends.

Last year, she decided that she was bored of her life. She was bored of her goodie two shoes friends, Lisa and Jess, and so she ditched them. She chose new ones, with cool haircuts and loud voices, and now they're rolling up on our driveway, in a red convertible.

Michael, Hannah's boyfriend, is driving, one hand on the wheel, the other dangling a cigarette out of the window. Five others, who I don't recognise, are squashed into the back, one leaning against the backs of the seats, the others sitting and shouting, laughing loudly. Music booms through the car's radio; it's some song by an up-and-coming girl group, and Hannah rushes past me as they honk at the house. She's wearing a tight purple dress that our dad probably wouldn't approve of, and her hair is teased up enough to add another foot to her height. She teeters towards the car, barely keeping her balance in impossibly high heels.

"Boardwalk!" screams someone in the back, followed by several whoops and cheers. The car speeds off seconds later, with Hannah riding shotgun, followed by nothing but more cheers and a cloud of smoke.

I check my watch. 8:34. I should get going soon, since I'd agreed to be at Dean's house by 8:40. We'd made arrangements for him to take us and our friends to the Boardwalk, in his dad's old Impala. I'm pretty sure that Dean can't drive legally yet, but he's taken us to Boardwalk a couple of times and no one has died yet, so that's a good sign.

 

***

 

I let myself in through the back door, since I've known the Winchesters long enough to know that none of them can ever remember to lock it. Sam's the only one with half a brain, but he's inherited Dean's habit of never using it.

"Dean?" I call out, as I stroll through the hallway, poking my head into the living room. Sam's lying on the couch, scruffy long hair poking out in every direction. Most of his face is obscured by the book he's holding up in front of it, intently reading, but I see his eyes flicker up to meet mine.

"He's in his room." He says, not fazed at my apparent break-in.

I salute him in thanks, before climbing the stairs, and find myself opening Dean's bedroom door. Dean's room suits his personality. The decorations clinging to the walls are a mishmash of movie posters, newspaper articles, and photos, mostly of us. I also spot a few topless girls stuck up near his wardrobe, but I divert my attention to the half-naked freckled teenager at the mirror.

"God, put some clothes on, Dean. Think of the children."

Dean snorts in reply, before sniffing his armpit.

"I think the children will survive."

I slump down on his bed, hearing the squeak of porn magazines that had been halfheartedly hidden beneath his mattress.

"I beg to differ. I saw your dick this one time in the locker room and I've yet to recover."

Dean turns to me, pouting. "Poor little Cas, how will you ever survive?"

"I'll stay strong."

Dean gives a final laugh before pulling on a dark green shirt. It looks good on him.

Most clothes look good on Dean, though, so it's not a surprise.

Dean begins to put various things into his pockets; his wallet and the like, when he turns to me.

"Could you grab my dad's car keys? They're on his bedside drawer."

"Will do." I assume John isn't home, since he's rarely ever home in the evenings. The empty tv dinners on the dining table further prove my point. He's probably out drinking, and won't be home until the early hours of the morning.

I open the door to his room, cautiously. It's the only room in Dean's house that I don't know well. Hell, I've even spent hours in Sam's room, because it's where they keep the Atari.

It looks fairly normal. The bed sits in the middle of the back wall, beneath the only window. A few lone shoes are scattered across the floor, and the wardrobe door is half open.

The room is still in half-darkness, with only the light of the street lamps to illuminate it.

I shuffle over to the bedside table, careful not to trip on anything, and, aside from some packets of painkillers and a packet of tissues, there's nothing. No sign of car keys. I open the first drawer, feeling slightly guilty for the invasion of privacy that I'm orchestrating. It's too dark to see inside of it, so I feel around for the keys. My hand brushes over a small pile of magazines, Playboy, I assume, because who keeps any other types of magazine next to their bed? I freeze when my fingers meet a solid metal object.

I slowly pick it up, and as it emerges from the drawer, I know exactly what it is, despite the darkness.

I'm holding a gun.

I drop it right back into the drawer; into the unknown that it emerged from. It clatters about, knocking against the wood, as it lands. I scramble about in the drawer, searching desperately for the keys that I know I can't leave without, wincing every time my hands collide with the gun. Eventually, I seize them, slamming the drawer shut and bolting out of the room, not bothering to close the door, tripping on my own feet.

Dean turns to me as I stumble back into his room.

"Jesus, Cas, you okay?" He frowns worriedly.

I swallow. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tripped up in the hallway." I feel bad lying to him, but I would feel even worse having to tell him that his own dad keeps a gun in his bedside drawer.

Dean's grin returns. "You're so clumsy."

As we make our way back downstairs, Dean calls out to Sam.

"Hey, Sammy, we're goin' now. Be good, yeah?"

"It's Sam. Not Sammy." Sam replies, frustratedly.

"Whatever you say, Sammy." Dean replies, the front door slamming behind us too quickly for him to reply.

 

***

 

The inside of the car smells like smoke as we drive into Boardwalk, even though the windows are rolled down.

Meg and Gabe have already gone through a pack together, despite the half an hour drive, and Dean's lit two up. Jo and I are left coughing and sputtering in the smoke.

However, a coughing fit doesn't stop you from awing.

People stroll past in big groups, all shouting and whooping, holding various alcoholic drinks. A couple are making out on a bench we drive past, hands moving like lightning and hair sticking up in all directions. It's dark out, and even though there are street lamps, most of the light is coming from the various neon signs that are plastered over every bar, nightclub, arcade and convenience store that we pass. Girls run past in bikinis, swinging the rest of their clothes above their heads, screaming with laughter. Music booms from every different establishment, playing whatever's on MTV at the moment, all fast drums and synths and guitars and pianos, and sopranos and bass lines and maybe even some trumpets. It's like everything's encased in a warm pink and blue glow of neon lights and music. Even as I turn to my friends, they've gone neon too, but a misty sort of neon, because of all the smoke.

Dean turns to me as the car settles in a parking lot.

"Wanna try and get served?"

 

***

 

Meg and I stumble down the streets, not cold, despite the month. Maybe it's the neon, or the alcohol that puts soft edges on everything. The others are all still in the bar, where Jo's dancing under a spotlight, and Dean and Gabe are trying to pick up girls. Meg and I had just drawn short straws and have been sent to buy four more packs of cigarettes, despite my protests that I don't even smoke.

"Look, I swear that's what he told me!" Meg screeches through laughter, barely coherent, her drunken state not helping.

"Well, he's lying!" We swing our entwined hands forward together as we continue the trek, not caring about the volume of our voices, with the sound of the waves crashing fifty meters away just as loud as us.

The sand lies between us and the ocean, the whole beach deserted, with teens favouring Boardwalk's nightlife to the sea in cold October. We're wandering down a wooden path, right on the edge of the town, where it’s emptier.

"Is not!" She cackles.

"Is too!"

"He's not!" She giggles and gives me a small shove, and I stumble back onto the sand, my feet sinking in the dunes.

And suddenly, Meg stops.

Before I know what's happening, she's kicking off her heels and dumping her jacket on the wooden path and running out to me on the dunes and we're kicking up sand and screaming and laughing hysterically.

Waves collapse next to us and dust forms in the air as we throw ourselves onto the sand. Meg's fallen to her knees in front of me, a truly picturesque moment:  her dark hair and arched eyebrows, breathing heavily, with the sea as her background. One of the straps of her tight, black dress hangs around her shoulder, and she's grinning at me and my half-untucked shirt and wild hair.

"Cas!" She screams, beneath the sound of the waves.

"Yeah?" I shout back.

"Don't be scared! Never be scared of anything, Cas!"

I know exactly what she means.

I slump down beside her, the breeze blowing through our hair, still smiling. My hands clasp onto hers as we watch the outskirts of the town; couples running by, groups of drunk friends, even some girls in tears. A man and a woman sit down at a bench just behind the wooden path, fifty yards away from us. In the darkness I make out the woman, a curvy blonde in a dark plum dress. The man is harder, but I can almost see brown hair, and maybe a beard. Their hands fumble around, and first the girl is climbing onto his lap, and there's a glint of gold jewellery, and he's grabbing her ass. Then, he's laying her down in the bench, kissing her legs and her neck and her tits. Then, blonde hair is flying around as she straddles him, and Meg is saying, "Oh, there's second base! Wait, never mind, it's third.", and everything is clicking in my mind.

"Meg?"

"Yes?"

"I think that's my father."

And then it's silent, and then Meg says, "Oh."

The October air hits me like it should have half an hour ago, goosebumps forming on my arms. I clutch Meg's hand harder than I ever have before, because it's the only way for me to communicate, to express the way I feel. Maybe anger? Disappointment? Shock? Sick? If I'm not even sure, how can I tell her?

We sit there in silence for half an hour, maybe more.

"So your dad is having an affair." Meg says, quietly.

"That's kind of what it looks like, yeah." I reply.

Silence.

"Can we go back to the bar?" I ask.

She doesn't need to say yes, or even nod. She just holds my hand even tighter as she puts her heels back on.

We walk back to the bar in silence, and I only let go of her hand as we open the door.

"Did you get the cigarettes?" Gabe asks me.

"Oh. I forgot."

I don't talk on the drive home, and I go straight to bed. Dad isn't home.

So I lay on my bed, and wait for sleep to take me.


	2. To The Grave

Wednesday, 20th August, 1975

The first time I saw my mother cry was on my 8th birthday.  
We were all sitting around the table, Hannah, Dean, and I, as well as a few friends who I no longer know. Cheap party hats were strapped around our heads and we filled our mouths with cake that was all too sweet. It was all very picturesque. I jumped down from my chair and ran upstairs, to the bathroom, because I needed to use the toilet. As I walked past my parents' bedroom, a chill rushed over me. It was the sort of chill that you get when you know you've walked into something you shouldn't have. I couldn't help myself. I slowly peeked through the gap.  
My mother's shrill voice was the first thing I heard.  
"You're insane! I'm your wife, why don't you trust me!" She screamed, and I heard her stomping around the room, her heels scraping the carpet.  
"Of course I don't trust you! I know you're fucking him! I know it, so stop lying already!" My father's voice boomed. I flinched at the swearing, the word sounding wrong in my ears.  
"Who do you think I am? Some sort of lying whore? You'd know a lot about them, wouldn't you, Charles? Considering you've slept with your share!" Through my tiny crack of vision into the room, I saw my mother grabbing a vase- blue with floral designs- and swiftly swing it across the room at my father. He ducked quickly, and it shattered on the wall behind him. I held my breath.  
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Crazy bitch!" I could almost hear my father shaking with rage, his voice deep and menacing.  
"Oh, I'm the crazy bitch? What about-" my mother’s words were cut off by a sharp slapping sound. And her breath hitched just as it arrived, like a crescendo. It was as though everyone in the house had fallen still the moment it happened, like we'd all been frozen in time. I could see dust particles in the air, hear birds tweeting in the distance, feel the tension weighing down on me like it was the size of the roof. The sound still echoed in my head. I ducked back behind a bookshelf just as my father came barrelling out, combing through his hair with his hands, huffing quietly to himself, letting the bedroom door slam behind him. He hurried downstairs, and half a minute later the front door slammed behind him, too.  
I stayed, pressed against the wall, breathing shallowly, until I finally gathered myself, convincing little Cas to open the bedroom door.  
As it creaked open, my mother's head shot up. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, weaker and tinier than she had ever looked before.  
"Cas what are you doing up here? It's your party!" She said, attempting to sound happy, but her state was given away by the crack of her voice.  
"I came to use the bathroom." I replied, still unsure of how to approach her.  
"Oh, sweetheart..." She began, the tears beginning to spill out of her own eyes cutting her off.  
She shook quietly, sobs escaping her intermittently, her hands pressed to her face.  
"Why did daddy hit you?"  
She stopped suddenly. Shuddering, she slowly looked up at me, removing her hands from her face.  
"Cas, you must never tell anyone about this. Not now, not ever. You can't tell Hannah, you can't tell your grandparents or your friends. And don't talk about it to daddy, either." And just like that, she was my mother again. Cold, analytical, snobbish, condescending; the perfect housewife in every way.

Friday 24th October, 1983

"Okay, okay, no more 'would you rather'! I get it!" Gabe laughs, nearly stumbling off of his bar stool.  
We're sitting around a high table in a dark, dusty bar in the backstreets of Boardwalk, having been kicked out of the ones on the Main Street for Gabe attempting to climb on to the bar and strip. Sometimes I wonder why we keep him around, when he almost causes more trouble than he's worth, but then he tries to flirt with a bartender whilst completely hammered and I remember why.  
"Different game!" enthuses Jo. "Any ideas?"  
"Truth or dare?" offers Meg.  
"Nah, it always ends the same way. I make out with Dean, you make up with Cas, and we have to carry Gabe home."  
"Fuck, marry, kill?" suggests Dean.  
"I always feel slightly violated after having to say I'd fuck the school principal."  
"How about 'never have I ever'?" I say, and everyone else looks up.  
"I'm down."  
A drink refill later, we're all sitting around the table again, even Gabe, and Dean is explaining the rules to us.  
"So you say an action, whether you've done it or not, and if you have done it, you drink and then explain yourself, and if you haven't, you don't drink and make fun of those who have. Hint: the most sober person is usually the most boring."  
"Okay, me first!" says Meg. she pauses to think, before saying, "Never have I ever... Snuck out of the house."  
"Easy!" shouts Gabe, taking a swig of his drink, along with the rest of us, except for Dean.  
"Really?" frowns Jo.  
Dean shrugs, "No need to. Dad always lets me go out."  
"That was too tame, me next," says the person on Meg's left, Gabe.  
"Oh, this should be good," chuckles Dean.  
"Never have I ever... fingered a girl." He and Dean take drinks immediately, followed by me slowly sipping at mine.  
"Okay, share your stories," Meg says, turning to Gabe first.  
"Some random girl who lived on the other side of town," he says shortly, before burping. "At the spring formal. She moved away like three months ago."  
"Fair enough, Dean?" Meg turns to the second of the three boys to drink our beers.  
"Y'know that hot brunette I was flirting with last week, with the glasses?"  
"Yeah."  
"In the bathroom of the club."  
Something pangs inside of me. A sense of disappointment, or jealousy. I don't know why, but all of a sudden, there's a sick feeling in my stomach.  
"And, finally, Cas." Meg looks at me, dark eyes locked with mine.  
"Anna, back when we were dating, last semester." The mention of Anna doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I'm not sure if I'm even upset that she dumped me, anymore.  
"Well, that's a surprise," says Jo.  
I turn to her, "What's that supposed to mean?"  
She shrugs. "I don't know, I just assumed you hadn't done anything."  
"She thinks you're a monk, Cas," Dean says, and I snort with laughter.  
"Okay, my turn now!" Jo returns to her usual bubbly persona. "Never have I ever... Made out with a friend's sibling."  
"Dude, Sam's twelve!"  
Jo rolls her eyes. "Obviously you have nothing to worry about, then."  
I look around, only to see Gabe proudly drain his cup, slam it down onto the table, stand up, and raise his fist up into the air.  
"Oh God, who?" Meg looks at him disgustedly.  
Gabe grins and looks around at us. "Sorry, Cas."  
The table erupts into hooting laughter mixed with disgusted groans, mostly mine.  
"Seriously, Hannah? When? Why?"  
Gabe bursts into laughter as well, "It was ages ago, man! Your sister's really hot!"  
"Don't worry, Cas," Jo stands up and drains her cup, too. "Gabe won't mind that I made out with his brother, then."  
The table is filled with laughter from everyone, once more, as well as a few 'oooooooh's, except for Gabe, who has gone dead silent.  
"Which one?" he asks, face still in shock. Gabe is the youngest of four brothers.  
Jo pauses, before giving a sweet smile. "Luc, of course."  
Gabe sits down in shame.  
"Dude, she put you in your place," snickers Dean.  
When the laughter has settled, and Jo and Gabe have refilled, Meg says, "Ooh, I've got another one. Never have I ever... Had sex."  
We all glance around at each other, to see that no one has drunk anything.  
"That's what I thought," she shrugs, "Just wanted to make sure."  
"Okay, me next. Never have I ever... smoked weed," Dean says, and he, Meg, and Gabe all sip their drinks. Jo and I glance at each other, knowing that neither of us smoking extended to marijuana, as well. Even though I know it's because of my own choices that I haven't, I can't help but feel excluded as the three high five, chattering over each other about the winter ball last year.  
"I've got one!" says Jo again, probably trying to settle them down; maybe she feels excluded as well. "Never have I ever... Taken acid!"  
I look around, to see that no one has drunk anything, except for Gabe, who's taken a swig of his beer.  
"What? When?" Dean looks alarmed that Gabe would consider doing drugs without him.  
Gabe shrugs, "Never, I just wanted to drink."  
"Oh, for God's sake."  
Meg nods to me. "Cas, you haven't done one."  
I consider my words very carefully, debating their responses in my head. In all honesty, it's something I've never spoken to any of them about it ever, even Dean.  
"Never have I ever thought about someone of the same gender in a... sexual or romantic way." I carefully glance around the table, where they all look fairly confused, however none of them appear to be disgusted: good sign.  
Except for Dean, that is, who has gingerly taken a sip of his beer. I join him in taking a drink.  
Meg, Jo and Gabe all look at each other as though they're all waiting for one another to say something.  
Meg takes the responsibility. "But what about- I mean not that we would have anything against you- but, what about Anna? And all those girls that Dean's always making out with?" She looks uncomfortable.  
I'm more than willing to let Dean answer for the two of us when he does.  
"I'm not really sure. I like girls, and I barely ever think about guys in... that sense, so..." He trails off, as though he himself is unsure of what he wants to say.  
"So what are you?" asks Gabe, unsubtly, to which Jo knees him under the table.  
"What, I'm just asking!" he protests.  
"I... I don't know." Dean and I say in sync, looking up at each other.  
"Oh," says Meg.

***

Dean and I stroll through the empty streets, not knowing whether we can call this late night or early morning, and being so drunk that we don't even care. My watch says it’s 4:23 but it doesn't mean anything to me, and the numbers swim in my head.  
Meg, the driver for the evening, had driven the others home, and since Dean and I live in a different part of the suburb, we were dropped off ten minutes for from our houses.  
"Y'know," Dean starts, breaking the silence, "When I was a kid, there was this thing in the attic, like this metal pole."  
"You have a stripper pole in your attic?" I snort, and he rolls his eyes.  
"It was like a support beam or something- Sam and I used to swing around on it all the time, pretend we were fire fighters and all that, and that pissed my dad off." Dean stops to yawn. "So he told us- he said that if it broke or bent or anything, the whole house would fall down."  
"Did you ever break it?" I ask, vaguely remembering something like that. We must have played on it at some point, years ago.  
"Nah, I got terrified to go near it after that. It's not important, I was just thinking about it."  
Silence falls upon us again.  
"I feel like that sometimes." I say, not really focusing on my words.  
"Like what?"  
"Like if I bend or break, everything's going to fall down."  
"That's scary, man."  
I nod.  
A raccoon scuttles past us, giving me an alarmed look before disappearing into a trash can around the back of someone's house.  
"So..." I start, unsure if where I'm hoping for it to lead me.  
"So..." Dean replies.  
"Do you like boys then?" I ask him, and I hear him chuckle under his breath.  
"I'm not really sure if I'm honest. I think so."  
"Me too. I mean, I think so, too."  
I look at him, and he looks back at me, and through the darkness, it's as if we're really seeing each other for the first time in a while. Something clicks, and Dean feels it to, like something that's been out of place, digging into my side, has just been knocked back into place.  
"I'm curious, y'know..." I whisper.  
"You're curious?"  
"Very."  
"Oh."  
And the October breeze sweeps me off my feet, and into his arms, into a kiss.  
I cling to him, because I don't know what to do, because kissing a guy is nothing like kissing a girl. Whenever I've kissed girls, she's always leant into me, with her arms around me neck, and she's been light and delicate and it's easy. When I kiss Dean, he's solid, strong, and I just don't know what to do with myself. He doesn't lean into me, and I can't lean into him, so we just stand, pressing our bodies together, eyes closed, hands shaking.  
In a way, there are some similarities. Everything about a girl is soft, and Dean is soft too. At least, his lips, his skin, and his hair.  
When we part again, Dean just stares at me.  
"That was... good." He whispers, and I nod.  
"You're right. It was."

***

I try to open the door quietly, careful not to wake anyone. My mother has never asked what time I come home, and I guess she doesn't want to know. I creep into the kitchen, trying to avoid making the floorboards creak, and begin pouring a glass of water when I spot a figure on the back porch. Through the darkness, I see a party dress and tightly curled hair. Hannah.  
I reach into the freezer and pull out two popsicles, not caring that it's cold out. Hannah and I love popsicles, and neither the cold nor our parents have ever been able to stop us.  
"Hey." I call out, as I slide open the glass door leading out to the back porch. Hannah jumps slightly, startled at my voice, and turns around. She's sitting on the porch steps, head resting in her hands, and elbows on her knees. She's wearing usual Hannah-Friday-night-clothes, with a cotton candy pink, silky dress, that pools around her thighs.  
"Oh. It's just you." She says, turning back around to face the yard again.  
"I've got popsicles." I wave the freezer pops at her.  
"What flavors?"  
I glance at the packaging, squinting in the darkness, "Bubblegum or cherry?"  
"Cherry."  
I sit down beside her on the steps and hand over the cherry pop, before opening mine. I've never been to much of a fan of bubblegum; it's too sweet. Dean loves bubblegum.  
"So why are you home so early? You're usually staggering back here at seven." I ask, and she gives a small laugh.  
"Just wasn't in a partying mood, I guess," she replies distractedly, playing with her bracelet.  
I mock gasp, "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"  
"You're hilarious," she deadpans, "How was your night?"  
I feel like I'm rewinding a movie as the night's events play back in my head; little shards of memories.  
"It was good. It was really, really, good." I sigh.  
"That's... Good."  
We fall silent once more, licking our popsicles quietly in the darkness.  
Eventually, I turn to her again. "Are you okay, Hannah?"  
She breathes in deeply, opens her mouth, closes it again, breathes out. It's like she's calculating in her head what she should reply.  
That, in itself, is an answer.  
"Can you keep a secret, Cas?" She eventually replies.  
I nod.  
"I think..." she starts, "That I'm pregnant."  
My response is almost automatic when I say, "Have you told mom and dad?"  
"No."  
"Does Michael know?"  
"No."  
"What the fuck are you going to do?"  
Silence.  
Silence.  
"... I don't know."  
I decide that maybe there are some things she should know about me, too.  
"Can you keep a secret about me, then?"  
"I kind of have to."  
"Okay, then."  
"What's the secret?"  
"I might like boys."  
I stare down at my popsicle, not previously noticing that it's gone, and that I've been toying with the wooden stick, not previously caring.  
Hannah doesn't say anything more, and neither do I, but there's a telepathic connection, and we both confirm that we'll take each other's secrets to the grave.


	3. To Deny You The Privilege

Thursday 11th June 1981

I met Meg Masters when I was fourteen years old. I remember every minute of that first exchange. It started with a bus, or rather, a lack thereof.  
"Yeah, screw you, too!" I screamed at the pineapple yellow bus, as it sped away, leaving my lungs overflowing with smoke and my face hot from the engine.  
"Ugh!" I huffed in frustration, kicking the ground, only to be left with a face full of dirt and dust. It was a particularity hot summer, and the soil and grass had turned orange and brown from the lack of water.  
"The ground didn't do nothing to you, y'know," said a smartass voice from behind.  
I spun around to come face-to-face with my critic, only to be met with a smirking, dark-haired teenager.  
"The goddamn bus drove right past me!" I huffed, coughing up dust.  
"Just walk," she said, matter-of-factly.  
I only had to wonder if she was sarcastic, or just stupid. I'd always been a bad at picking up on sarcasm, much to Dean's annoyance.  
"You're not from here, are you?"  
"New York. You live in a shithole, man." The girl glanced at her surroundings, as if to confirm, that it was, in fact, a shithole.  
I decided that I liked her.  
"Cas Novak." I held out a hand.  
"Meg Masters."  
And everything fell into place when she said that, because now I had a Meg.  
We walked to school together. It took an hour and a half, but I don't think it felt like that. The secretary called my mother, screaming on about how I was late, and no, that wasn't an excuse. Meg just grinned.  
We met again, that day.  
I slumped down into the faux leather bench, tilting my head back and pressing it against the yellow cinderblock wall behind me. I squeezed my nose, as blood oozed out of it, the metallic taste sliding into my mouth.  
As it turned out, when a dodgeball is thrown by a six-foot-tall, 240 pound teenage boy, and you're not looking, it will hit you in the face. I had learned that lesson the hard way.  
I groaned, feeling dizzy after holding my head back for so long.  
"Well, look who came crawlin' back," a familiar voice said from the other side of the room.  
"I couldn't stay away, you know I couldn't." I replied, turning to face the voice. It was Meg; of course it was. Who else would it be?  
She was bent over, peering into one of the cabinets, digging around various probably outdated medicines. I turned away quickly, trying to avoid looking at her butt, which was more than visible in her Levis.  
"You starin' at my ass, Novak?" She stood up and turned to face me, a smirk playing on her lips.  
"What? No, of course not!" I stuttered, feeling myself reddening at the accusation.  
"I know you ain't. I'm just messing with you, Cas. No need to get all flustered." She gave a chuckle at the heat in my face.  
I let out a sigh of relief, glancing up at the glass case filled with pamphlets.  
Abortion: Would You Kill Your Child?  
All You Need To Know About GRIDS  
Is Someone You Know Dealing Crack?  
Homosexuality And Its Diseases  
The Danger Of Drugs  
"Cheerful, ain't they?" Meg gestured towards the pamphlets, "Man, sometimes I think all they're tryna do is scare us."  
"Do you think that it's working?" I asked, squeezing my nose harder.  
"What's working?"  
"Are you scared?"  
Meg opened her mouth, closed it again, and looked at me.  
"I think I am, really. I think I'm fuckin' terrified of what they're tellin' us. It makes me never wanna leave the safety of the suburbs."  
I thought a lot about what she said, as the years went on.  
"That means that it's working. That's what they want from us, I think."  
It was a lie. We couldn't be safe by staying where we were. I believe that the suburbs are the most dangerous place of all.

Friday 31st October, 1983

"Man, why did we agree to this? I'm hot, and sweaty, and Gabe won't stop staring!" Jo whines, slapping Gabe on the shoulder. She's standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of Dean's living room, wearing a tight black spandex suit. She makes a good Cat Woman, but the suit might be a little too tight, hugging every inch of her body, making Gabe ogle whenever she moves, and the spandex readjusts around her figure.  
"Sorry! It's just... Damn." He settles on, not taking his eyes off of her. He's slumped over on the couch, dressed as Captain America. Maybe the superhero-themed costumes were a bad idea; Gabe's way too excited about his new alter ego.  
"Let me tell you, this is who I really am! Captain America is my alter ego!" he starts, his distraction gone as Jo huffs and goes into the kitchen.  
"I don't think your alter ego can be a copyrighted character," pipes up Wonderwoman, aka Meg.  
"God, so close-minded," Gabe shakes his head. "Cas?"  
"Going to have to agree with my partner over there." I gesture to Meg, who places her hand over her heart in faux gratitude.  
"Oh, Clark, you're too good to me."  
Just then, Sam walks in, looking about as pissed off as usual. He's not actually an angry kid, he just tends to avoid putting up with Gabe's crap.  
"Hey, Sammy." Meg salutes him.  
"It's Sam."  
"Tell me, Sam," Gabe turns to face him, "Why are you dressed as a homeless elf?"  
Sam's eye roll could send the earth spinning off its axis.  
"I'm a hobbit." He pronounces the words slowly, like Gabe's braindead, which, let's face it, he might be.  
"What do you think of our costumes, Sam?" I ask, proudly brandishing the Superman symbol on my chest.  
Sam looks me up and down. "It's better than Captain Dickhead over there." He nods toward Gabe, who does a doubletake of feigned distraught.  
"Language!" John Winchester calls, jogging down the stairs, holding a can of beer in one hand. I divert my attention to the floor when he arrives in the living room. I've never been much of a fan of John, to be honest. He's always seemed shifty, giving a wavering smile that only existed in his mouth, watching Meg or Jo walk away for just a little too long, the sharpness in his tone when he speaks to Dean. The fact that the beers he drinks are more of a permanent fixture in the house than he is doesn't help his case.  
The gun I found in his bedside drawer two weeks ago probably doesn't do anything in his favor, either.  
"So, what are you kids up to tonight?" he asks, shoving his free hand into a front pocket of his jeans.  
Gabe jumps up in excitement. "We're going to get crazy drunk! Meet hot chicks! Go wild-"  
Meg kicks him in the leg, and poor Gabe crumples, grabbing at his ankle.  
"By that he meant ‘drink responsibly and respect women.’" Meg gives a sweet smile, ignoring Gabe's whimpers.  
"Cas! Get your ass up here!" a voice calls from upstairs, presumably my all-too-excited-about-Halloween best friend.  
I make my way up to the second floor, leaving behind Gabe's whines of “jeez- y'know you guys do that a lot? What was I even saying wrong? I think my leg is broken! I'll never walk again!”  
When the door to Dean's room shuts behind me, I glance around the seemingly empty bedroom.  
"Dean?" I ask, confused.  
"Who's Dean? I'm Batman!" a voice shouts from behind me, and as I turn, I'm knocked off of my feet and onto the floor by Dean-or rather, Batman.  
I try to catch my breath, gasping for air as I laugh uncontrollably. Dean is still leaning over me, his face half a foot from mine, his arms supporting him on either side of me. Longer strands of hair dangle down in front of his face, delight unwavering in his viridescent eyes.  
"Dean-what the hell, man?" I struggle through giggles.  
"There is no Dean Winchester anymore! I'm Batman! We've been over this!" Dean booms, making his voice as deep as he can.  
"Where's your mask then, Batman?" I raise my eyebrows at him.  
"Shut the hell up, you mere mortal!" Dean's voice breaks, revealing the sixteen year old boy beneath his costume.  
"Batman is a mortal, genius." I smirk, before realising that our faces are suddenly much closer together. I can feel Dean's panting breaths on my lips.  
"You bein' a smartass now, honey?" Dean smirks back, the humor in his eyes replaced with a new sort of delight. He stares at my lips like a lion, and I can't help feeling like a gazelle.  
"Always have been, baby." The words feel foreign in my mouth. They feel so sexy. This is how Meg and Dean speak, not me.  
I like it, though.  
I like being sexy.  
Dean stares down at me, surprise briefly showing on his face at my remark, where he breaks character, and he's Dean again.  
Focus on his face. Focus on his face. Focus on his face. Don't focus on his thigh pressing against your crotch, as he pins you down. Don't focus on how sweaty your palms are getting, gripping the fibres of his polyester carpet. Don't focus on the way your heart slams against your rib cage; it's beating so fast.  
Focus on his face.  
And as I do what I promise myself, looking at his face, I notice his eyes widen.  
My face crumples in humiliation at the surprise in his, closing my eyes to avoid looking into his pupils.  
"Have you... got a boner?" Dean asks hesitantly, still holding me down, not moving.  
I nod in shame.  
"Oh." This is where I expect Dean to awkwardly climb off of me, and ask me if I could go back downstairs and if we could never talk about this.  
Except, he stays completely still. I carefully open my eyes and he's still staring, not disgusted or scared.  
"Can I kiss you?"  
I nod, and that's exactly what he does.  
His mouth is warmer than last time, when we kissed on the street.  
He presses his lips against mine and I let my eyes close again, let myself focus on the kiss.  
And then it's over, as quick as it started, and all I want is for him to do it again.  
Instead, he climbs off of me.  
"So where should we hit first?" he asks casually, referring to the bars that we will no doubt hop between faster than we can finish our beers. He's digging around under his bed, probably trying to find his shoes.  
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.  
I stare up at the John Bonham poster on his ceiling, not moving, still in shock from what just happened.  
"Cas?" he asks again.  
"Harley's." I reply, instead of, “You just kissed me and now you're pretending like it didn't happening, so what are you doing?” Like I should.

***

Music pours out through the speakers of our sixth stop of the night, The Blue Velvet. It's a big club on the Boardwalk, known for its glitter-covered ceiling and podiums for GoGo dancers to stand on. Some pop song that I don't recognise penetrates my ear drums as I push my way back through the crowd from the bar. I carry a drink in either hand, unsure of what they are, but certain that I'll get drunk off of it.  
I return to the couch we've claimed, shoving a Madonna and Soldier out of the way as they make out in the middle of the dance floor. Dean and Jo sit on one side, with Gabe leaning on the armrest, a sexy nurse clinging to him, getting a little too close for comfort.  
I squeeze in next to Dean, who moves down on the tiny couch, barely making a difference and leaving us still pressed against each other.  
"Someone's not leaving any room for Jesus." Dean shakes his head as Gabe and the nurse begin sloppily making out, and Gabe leans further into the couch, causing Jo to have to shuffle closer to Dean to avoid being crushed.  
"Nope! I'm out! You two are gross!" Dean stands up and escapes the couch, oddly disgusted by Gabe and the nurse, considering he'd usually be cheering them on. He disappears into the crowd and Jo and I readjust just as Meg appears and settles down in Dean's place. Jo groans as she's once again pushed against Gabe's ass.  
"Cut it out! You guys make me want to be sick." Jo exasperatedly sighs and hits Gabe on the thigh.  
Gabe detaches himself from the nurse and turns to us.  
"Sorry, Jo, just so hard to stop myself when I'm with such a hot girl." He grabs the nurse's ass and Jo reddens. "We're just gonna go... to the bathroom." He smirks and they hurry off together, giggling.  
"The bathroom? Is that code for something?" I turn to Meg as Jo coughs and straightens herself out, obviously a little flustered from her interaction with Gabe and the nurse. She's always been weird about him making out with so many girls.  
"Nope, he literally means the bathroom. The Blue Velvet's bathrooms are known for being where people go to get off. My guess is that she's about to get some scuffed up knees." Meg shrugs and takes a sip of her drink.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jo asks.  
"Honey, she's going to put his dick in her mouth," Meg replies. "Apparently the stalls are like, soundproof or something, so you never know what anyone's doing in there."  
Meg and Jo continue talking, but I'm already deep in my thoughts again. A place where no one knows what you're doing. Perfect. Dean and I need to talk, and if the location for that discussion is the men's bathroom, then so be it.  
"I just think he's not going to-"  
"I've got to go. I'll see you guys soon," I interrupt Jo and stand up, making my way into the crowd. Last time I saw Dean, he was talking to some girls by one of the podiums. I shuffle around, scanning the people around me, looking for a Batman. People are packed tightly, bodies pressed together, the whole crowd pulsing together. There's something so overtly sexual about it.  
When I finally spot Dean, he's leaning against a back wall, talking to a Catholic schoolgirl and a somehow sexy zombie. As I near them, I hear the schoolgirl say, "Yeah, Gemini and Aquarius are, like, meant to be," while twiddling her long, dark hair.  
As I reach them, I turn to both girls. "Excuse me, Dean, do you mind if I have a word with you?"  
Dean places an arm around the zombie, who giggles and smiles cheesily.  
"Alone, Dean," I sigh.  
"Fine. See you girls later, yeah?" He kisses the school girl on the cheek before reluctantly stepping forward.  
As I begin to drag him towards the bathrooms, he starts to complain.  
"What the Hell, man? I was in there, and you just had to go and mess it up for me," he whines. I open the bathroom door, to see that it's almost empty, aside from a firefighter at a urinal and one of the stalls being occupied. I pull him into an empty one, as close the door behind us. The stall is surrounded by walls, instead of panels that have gaps near the ceiling and show your feet, and the doors are actual wooden doors; probably the reason for the soundproof reputation.  
"What's going on with us, Dean?" I say, slumping down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, while Dean leans against the door.  
"I'm trying my best to figure stuff out, here." He runs his hands through his hair, staring down at the floor tiles. I can't see much of his expression, thanks to the mask that he eventually retrieved, but I can only assume that he isn't grinning with joy.  
"Do you even like me? Because you seem way more interested in some random girls."  
Dean's head snaps up to look at me.  
"I don't even know if I like boys, Cas, how am I supposed to know if I like you or not?"  
"Use your brain," I spit, angry, but not sure why. It's not Dean's fault that he's confused. Hell, I'm confused. I'm not angry at him; I'm angry at the situation. I'm angry that the situation involves us kissing other people.  
Dean's silent for a minute, and then he hesitantly asks me something.  
"Can I blow you?"  
"What?" I'm taken aback in surprise.  
"I'm using my brain, Cas, and my brain wants me to blow you." The seduction in Dean’s green eyes shines through the holes in his mask.  
"O-okay then." I stutter, still in shock.  
Dean pounces on me, kissing me more intensely than before, his hands tight on my waist, shoving us both against one of the stall walls. I moan slightly against his mouth, and my hands find their way under his long sleeve, grey batman shirt, feeling the bare skin that I've watched from afar for so long. I've never been able to touch it, but now it's tensing and relaxing under my fingertips, as I explore every dent and crook of his chest.  
All of a sudden, he's sitting on the toilet seat, with me standing before him, pressed against both the door and his shoulders since the stall is so cramped. He pulls down my superman tights, knowing that I've already got an aching boner, and I can't help but laugh in my head about the fact that Batman is about to give Superman head.  
As he pulls down my boxers, he looks up at me.  
"Are you sure you want this?" he asks, to which I reply by groaning, nodding, and rolling my hips involuntarily all at once.  
Before I know what's happening, my dick is in his mouth, and I'm leaning against him, my hip bones touching his shoulders. His hands run up and down my back, until they reach my ass, which he grabs, causing me to yelp slightly.  
His tongue moves around quickly, darting and making me suddenly shove myself against him and moan louder. My hands find his hair, tugging at the blondish strands to pull myself forward, to get more of whatever he's doing to me. I'm at his mercy, my dick controlling every one of my movements, and I finally understand why Gabe is so obsessed with sex.  
Suddenly I'm jerking and twitching, feeling the pressure build up inside of me like a volcano.  
"Dean- shit, I'm-" I struggle to say, only encouraging him to go faster, wilder, rapidly moving his head, digging his nails into my ass, and ten other things that I can't remember.  
My heart pounds as I mumble incoherently, a mix of swearing and sharp breaths and “Dean,” as I reach my limit, and my vision goes all fuzzy around the edges.  
And then I see stars.  
When it’s over, and we’ve stopped breathing heavily, I slump back against the door of the stall, my legs all of a sudden exhausted.  
“How was that?” Dean asks, through a crooked grin.  
I give a small laugh, still in the shock of having discovered this skill that I didn’t know Dean had.  
“It was… I mean, where did you learn to do that?” I shake my head in disbelief. Anna was good at a lot of things; she really was, but she could never do that like Dean did.  
“At Easter, when me and Sam and Dad went to New York for the vacation. I met this guy, and he taught me a Hell of a lot. More than any girl from around here.” Dean smiles fondly at the memory, and I blush as I feel myself twitching at the idea of Dean doing things with a stranger in New York.  
“So this wasn’t your first time with a guy?” I ask hesitantly, as the realization dawns upon me that I’ve just gotten a blowjob, in a bathroom, from Dean.  
I just did sex things with a boy.  
Oh, God.  
“Yeah, aside from Benny- that was the name of the guy in New York. I kissed Tommy Reynolds at the Spring Fling, but that was only ‘cause he wouldn’t stop goin’ on about how he’d never been with a boy and all that. I never really liked him or anything, but he seemed to really get off when I told him about Benny so I kissed him. He wanted to know what it was like.” Dean shrugs, like it was just an act of kindness to help the community.  
I try to recall the face to match Tommy’s name in my mind.  
“Didn’t he move away, like, a month later?”  
Dean frowns. “Yeah, his mom found out. They sent him to military school.”  
“Oh.”  
We remain in silence for a few more minutes, as I occasionally shift my feet or Dean runs his hands through his hair.  
“Oh, crap!” Dean suddenly springs up, making me jump, and begins straightening out his costume. “I totally forgot about those girls I was with! I was so close to getting phone numbers! Did you see their asses, Cas?” He begins erratically trying to sort himself out and I’m left standing in shock, my pants around my knees, with my mouth open.  
Before I can say anything, he bolts out of the stall, and then the bathroom, back out into the crowded dancefloor, leaving me half naked and confused.  
“Yeah, I saw their asses,” I mumble to myself, feeling bitter and abandoned as I tug my pants back up. “The zombie was flat.”

***

I push my way through the dancers, feeling sick to my stomach. Dean sucks me off, and then goes after some random girls? Why’d he even do it if it didn’t mean anything? Did he just want me to shut up?  
I make a beeline for the couch that my friends had claimed, only to see Dean sitting there, too, with the catholic schoolgirl on his lap, laughing at one of Jo’s jokes while feeling her up.  
I only get angrier, as I watch the act of betrayal. Every time his hand slips under her shirt I get this pang in my heart. I want revenge.  
I stare on, until I see my revenge sitting on the couch opposite, twirling her hair.  
I know I shouldn’t do that to Meg, and every bone in my body is screaming, begging me not to make her part of Dean’s game. I continue with this begging and screaming as I walk over to her, pull her off of the couch, and kiss her. She gives a small gasp of shock, breathing in quickly before leaning into the kiss, into me. Her lips taste like cherry; like mint and everything else I ever imagined they would taste like. I carefully open my eyes to look past Meg and her beautiful face, to the corner of my vision. Dean’s hands have dropped by his sides, and he ignores the schoolgirl on his lap, favoring staring at me kissing Meg, a sort of shock in his eyes. I grin to myself, knowing that I’ve beat him.  
Meg and I separate slowly, as I keep my hands on her waist. Trying to get back at Dean or not, kissing her is amazing, and I mentally kick myself for only ever doing anything romantic when it’s for my own selfish desires.  
She laughs lightly. “Where’d that come from, Novak?”  
“I don’t know. I think I just always wanted to.” I shrug.  
“Damn, Superman, you’ve got game.” Meg gives me another smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get another beer.”  
As she walks away into the crowd, she yells back, “And this doesn’t mean anything!”  
“Yeah!” I yell back, before turning to Jo, who’s staring at me, looking confused.  
“So you guys aren’t going to like… Date or anything?”  
I give another shrug. “Nah, I was just curious.”  
Just then, I notice that Dean’s space is now empty. He must have left when Meg and I were yelling at each other.  
“I’ll be right back.” I tell Jo, who looks at me exasperatedly as I walk away, leaving her sitting alone. I’ll apologize later.  
I run out of the exit to the club, the cold air hitting my skin like ice compared to the heated mess of the Blue Velvet.  
I glance both ways, scanning the people walking past for anyone dressed as Batman.  
When I spot Dean, he’s walking towards the beach, twenty feet in front of me.  
“What? Are you angry that I can do it, too?” I yell at him, too drunk to care about the people stopping and staring.  
Dean stops dead in his tracks at the sound of my voice. He turns to look at me and stays still as I walk towards him, until we’re standing face to face.  
“Who even are you, Cas? It’s like all of a sudden you’ve decided to be all sexy and stuff.” He looks at me quizzically.  
I didn’t think he’d noticed. All of my forward moves, flirting, randomly kissing Meg- I thought that was all subtle enough for it to only really exist in my head.  
“Maybe I want to be sexy now.” I spit, still feeling a little embarrassed that he’d noticed. “And you can talk about being sexy- making out with every girl you see like it’s no big deal!”  
Dean frowns at me. “Why do you care who I make out with?”  
“Because you fuck with people, Dean! You fuck with everyone and you don’t care who you hurt!” He seems taken aback by my anger, concern building in what little of his facial features I can see.  
“Take off the mask, already,” I sigh.  
When he does, his expression is hurt, but there’s still fight in him.  
“I don’t fuck with anyone, Cas.”  
“You sucked me off and then went after some random girls. You led me on and then just abandoned me.”  
Dean begins laughing, a cynical grin forming on his face.  
“Oh, I fuck with people? Care to talk me through what just happened with Meg back there? ‘Cause it seems like you used her to get back at me."  
Dean starts walking again, into the sand, with me trailing behind him. He throws his arms up into the air.  
"You're messing with her emotions, Cas!"  
I take a deep breath, all my anger suddenly replaced with sadness.  
“I don’t want to be another Tommy Reynolds." I sigh, my legs going weak all of a sudden. "I don't want to be some uncertain kid you blow just to get him to shut up."  
Dean goes still all of a sudden, letting his arms fall to his sides. He stares at me like he's trying to say something, but just can't spit it out. We keep looking at each other, expecting something to happen; for something to click and me to leap into his arms, and everything will be okay again.  
That doesn't happen, though.  
"That's it, really." I shrug, putting my hands under my armpits to avoid the cold. "So if you're just doing all this to get a kick out of it, just stop."  
I don't bother to look at his expression as I turn to walk back into the lively part of town, away from the sand and sea and the pained look on Dean's face.  
I wander aimlessly for a few minutes, unsure of where I'm trying to go. Well, I know that I'm trying to get home- I'm sick of this night- but I don't know how. Hannah stayed in again tonight, and Gabe is probably getting his fourth round of blowjobs by now.  
When I get back into the club, I still feel cold, despite the sweaty heat.  
"Jo?" I ask when I reach her, and the blonde looks up from her drink. She's relocated to the bar since I last saw her.  
"What's up, Cas? You look kind of out of it..." she asks worriedly, frowning at my shivering and tired eyes.  
"Can you drive me home?" I ask quietly.  
She doesn't even have to say anything; she just picks up her bag and we leave the club.

***

I've never ridden shotgun in Jo's car before, I notice, as we sit in silence for the drive back. She's got one hand on the wheel, the other supporting her head as she leans against the window. I sit with my arms crossed, tapping my foot to a rhythm that I don't remember.  
"So, do you want to talk about it?" Jo asks cautiously.  
"No." Replying so bluntly is probably rude, but Jo won't take it to heart. She knows me well enough to understand that I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just being straight.  
"Fair enough. I'm not going to force it out of you." She shrugs, tilting her head in the other direction.  
"So what's everyone else doing right about now?" I ask, changing the subject.  
"Meg's getting free drinks from some redhead guy, I think. No idea what Dean's up to." She gives a smile.  
I can't help but feel a sense of guilt because I know what Dean's up to. Probably still standing in that spot on the beach, starting to hate me.  
"And Gabe?"  
Jo sighs at the mention of Gabe. "How am I supposed to know what he's doing? Just being Gabe, is my guess."  
I waggle my eyebrows at her, making her roll her eyes and laugh.  
"So you don't care what he's doing, or rather, who's he's doing, right now?"  
"Nope, I could give a crap what he's doing. He's just Gabe. He's gross and creepy." She scrunches up her nose at the thought, but can't hide the blush blooming on her cheeks.  
"Aw, someone has a crush!" I poke at her, teasing.  
"Cut it out!" she groans, poking me back, but she's laughing, too. "I told you, he's gross and creepy!"  
"And dreamy."  
"Only 'cause he has a lazy eye."  
I snort in response, because Jo's actually pretty funny when I actually get to talk to her one on one.  
The car falls silent again, as our chuckles die out. It's not an awkward silence, though, this time. It's a nice silence, because nothing needs to be said.  
"This is your stop, Novak." The car shudders to a halt in front of my house.  
After I step out of the car, I turn back to face her again, leaning in through the open window.  
"Thanks for taking me home, Jo."  
She smiles. "It's nothing, really. Hey, now we're even for that time I broke that plate at your house."  
I shake my head in faux disappointment. "An elephant never forgets, Harvelle."  
We share a laugh again before she drives off into the darkness and I'm left alone at my house once more. I glance at my watch; 4:35. Everyone should be in bed already.  
However, as I near my door, something seems off. There's sound coming from inside.  
Shouting.  
Oh God.  
I take a deep breath as I place my hand on the door handle, only needing to turn a key to unleash the chaos going on inside.  
Welcome, one and all, to the world-famous Novak family shitshow. This is no ordinary argument, ladies and gentlemen. This is the real thing, my friends. Guaranteed, 100% authentic, suburban dysfunctionality. All shouting, half price! What a steal!  
Says the announcer in my head.  
Let's do this.  
I open the door, and I'm immediately met with a wave of shrill voices.  
Carefully making my way to the kitchen, where the fight seems to be going down, I notice that Hannah and my mother and seated at the breakfast table, whilst my father storms around the room, opening and closing cabinets, ranting.  
"Look, it's Superman! Cas, care to tell us if you knew, too?" My father spots me and stomps up to me immediately, raising his eyebrows at me as if he's scrutinizing me.  
“Did I know what?” I ask carefully. I need to tread cautiously around this situation. Mess up one word and this whole thing could blow up.  
“Playing dumb, I see. About your sister’s little issue!” He spits, looking disgusted to hear the words come out of his mouth.  
I shoot Hannah a quick look, silently asking if I can tell him. She replies with a small nod.  
“Yes, I knew.”  
“It won’t be an issue!” My mother stands up to place a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, “You’ll either get rid of it or marry Michael. Won’t you, petal?” Her voice is sickeningly sweet.  
Hannah’s face goes pale. “No, I’m not marrying Michael, Mom.”  
“See, the problem is solved,” says my mother, planting a kiss on my father’s cheek. “She’ll just get an abortion.”  
Hannah shrugs. “I don’t know if I want to do that either.”  
And then, with those few words, a look of fear appears on my mother’s face. A panicky dread that I’ve never seen before. I almost want to smile and take a picture of this moment; of the moment where my mother, seemingly for the first time in her life, doesn’t know what to do with herself.  
And then her slyness returns. I can only be a spectator as I know that I’ll soon be watching her manipulate Hannah, because she’s a housewife, and that’s what she does best.  
“So you want to be… a single mother?” She sits down across from Hannah, starting the interrogation.  
“Well, I’ll meet other guys-“  
“Oh, honey,” she interrupts her, “Once any man sees you’ve got a kid along for the ride, he’ll run as fast as he can in the opposite direction.” She shakes her head, faking sympathy. The bitch.  
“Mom, stop it-“ I start, only for her to interrupt me as well.  
“Be quiet, Cas.” She continues her assault on Hannah. “And what about school? Do you want to be a high school dropout?”  
Hannah goes pale for a second time. Hannah can’t deal with failure. Hannah won’t deal with failure.  
“I’m not going to drop out-“  
“Then what about college?”  
“I’m going to college-“  
“And you’ll tell them what? That you want an en suite bathroom and, oh, a crib and high chair, too?”  
“I’ll figure something out-“  
But it’s too late. My mother’s already got her cornered.  
“And how will you work? You’ve always wanted to be a working woman, Hannah, but you can’t do that on your own and with a baby.”  
Hannah’s at a loss for words, tears brimming her eyes, her lip shaking. My mother gets close to her, leaning across the table. And then, in her most sickly sweet voice possible, whispers,  
“It’s you or the baby, sweetheart.”  
All of a sudden, my father, whose existence I’d almost forgotten about, breaks the silence.  
“I can’t believe this! All these secrets being kept from me in my own goddamn house!” He slams his fist down on the kitchen table, making Hannah jump.  
I consider my words very carefully before deciding that if this is the family shitshow, I might as well join in.  
“Y’know, Dad,” I lean back against the wall, a smirk playing on my lips. “Maybe we’re not the only ones keeping secrets.”  
“What are you talking about, boy?” my father snarls, turning to me.  
“I’m just saying, we all have secrets… and sometimes, when we mess up and are a little bit too public about our secrets, people find out.”  
I watch every muscle in the man’s face intently, waiting for the moment when it will click in his brain.  
Nothing.  
Nothing.  
Nothing.  
Click.  
His eyes widen, and his mouth drops to an “o”, the same panic that appeared in my mother’s face gracing his. He struts up to me, putting his face only an inch or two from mine. The scent of alcohol slips through his lips, matching the crazed look in his eyes.  
“I swear to God, you little bastard…” he says under his breath, barely audible to me, let alone Hannah and my mother.  
I just grin.  
“Would you like to tell your dear wife and daughter, or should I? The pleasure would be all mine, but I wouldn’t want to deny you the privilege.”  
“Shut the hell up…” he growls.  
“What’s he talking about?” my mother asks, standing up again, her voice shaky.  
My father turns to place his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.  
“Listen, I have to tell you-“  
“Dad’s having an affair! She’s blonde! Big tits, too!” I blurt out, my grin replaced with a cheeky smile.  
“Why, you-“ My father slams me back against the wall.  
“Whoops, I just couldn’t stop myself.”  
“Stop it. Right now. Cas, Hannah. Rooms. Now.” My mother issues curt orders, pulling my fuming father away from me and forcing him into a seat at the kitchen table.  
Hannah and I trail off to our rooms, and despite the tension radiating from the entire house, I can’t help but keep grinning to myself in pride. The shitshow was successful.

***

I pull my shirt off, along with the rest of my cheap Superman costume. It’s weird to think that this whole time, I’ve been dressed as a superhero. I collapse onto my bed still in only my underwear, suddenly exhausted by the events of the night.  
And then the tapping at the window starts.  
“Ugh.” I groan as I drag myself over to the windows and tug the curtains open.  
I’m not even surprised to see Batman hanging off the bit of roof beneath my window, which I open enough to stick my head and shoulders out. It’s freezing, and being almost naked doesn’t help.  
“It’s Batman! Let me the Hell in!” He huffs, clearly out of breath.  
I sigh and grab him by the arm, pulling him into the room. Crap. He’s a lot heavier than I expected.  
“Jesus, my arms hurt. You couldn’t have let me in quicker?” He shakes his wrists, rubbing them.  
“You’re right, it’s my fault that you decided the best way into my house was through a window.” I roll my eyes.  
Dean looks up at me and immediately stops dead in his tracks, scanning me, his eyes going over my body from my head to my toes.  
“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning around to turn on a lamp on my desk. It's still broken. I feel heat rising in my cheeks when I feel his eyes automatically going straight to my ass.  
“Y’know… I just wanted to… talk,” he stutters, and his eyes continue boring into me.  
“Can you stop staring?” I snap, facing him again.  
“Oh, sorry,” he says hesitantly, running his hands through his hair.  
I look expectantly at Dean.  
“Talk, then.”  
Dean opens his mouth to speak, before closing it again when nothing comes out.  
“I,” he starts, “I want you to know that I’m not fucking with you.”  
“Okay,” I state blandly, refusing to look him in the eye as I hurriedly rush around the room, tidying things away to avoid having to look at him.  
“Cas!” He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me so that I’m facing him. “Can you look me in the goddamn eye already?”  
I reluctantly comply, awkwardly shifting at the feeling of Dean’s hands clenched around my biceps.  
“I like you.” He heaves a long sigh, like he’s been holding it in for a long time. Maybe he has.  
“And you’re not another Tommy Reynolds, I swear to God you’re not. And I know that you’re uncertain and don’t know who you are, or what you are. But when you figure that out, I’ll be there for you.”  
My anger melts away as he stares at me with puppy dog eyes, waiting for my response.  
“Can I kiss you?” I murmur, fixated on his eyes.  
He replies by pulling me close to him and kissing me slowly, his clothes soft against my bare skin.  
I close my eyes, let myself sink into it. I let myself enjoy it, like I’ve been afraid to do for so long. This is the first time where I’ve fully and truly been okay with us kissing.  
The first time was a drunken mess—now a blur in my mind—with only this journal to confirm to me that it did, indeed, happen.  
The second was filled with anxiety that Sam or John or Meg or Gabe could walk in at any moment.  
The third time was fiery and passionate and quick. It was sharp movements in a cramped bathroom stall, kisses that were always just a little too short, that turned into something sexual.  
And now, for our fourth kiss, with his hands on my waist and my door locked, I can finally just let it happen.  
When we separate, we do it slowly, my eyes still half closed. His fingers tug gently at the waistband of my underwear.  
“Do you want to?” he asks quietly. “For real this time. I’m not gonna bail on you after.” He smiles sheepishly.  
I shake my head reluctantly. “Nah, not tonight. I’m too tired.”  
“Sure,” Dean smiles, “Off into the night I go.” His voice is a deep growl, trying to emulate Batman.  
As he puts one leg out of the window, I grab his arm.  
“Wait, Dean.”  
“Yeah?” He turns around.  
I kiss him quickly, and he smiles against my mouth before putting his other leg over the window. He slides down the roofing and I hear a thud as he jumps off and lands in my lawn. After that, there’s only the sounds of crickets, an owl hooting, and a car driving past. And he’s gone.  
I walk over to my wardrobe and pull out an old t-shirt that never really fit me well enough. I tug it on and grab a pair of socks, too, before clambering out the same window that Dean just went through. I cling to the pipes above me once I get outside, shivering a little in the cold. Carefully, I pull myself up onto the roof above me, hauling myself onto the slope.  
“Cas?” Hannah asks, her head snapping towards me. She’s sitting on the roof, in her pajamas, staring at the suburbs that surround us.  
“What are you doing up here?” I ask her, shuffling over so that we’re sitting side by side.  
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies.  
“I asked first.”  
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about everything,” Hannah sighs, putting her head in her hands.  
“Come on, don’t listen to that stuff that mom said-“ I start, but she interrupts me.  
“What if she’s right, huh? What if it is me or the baby? What if I have to marry Michael and become a housewife like she did?”  
“We’re not our parents, Hannah. We don’t have to do anything that they did,” I say.  
Silence.  
“Are you going to tell Michael?”  
Hannah gives a small laugh. “Yeah, that would go down well. ‘Hey, Mike, remember when we had unprotected sex and figured nothing bad would happen because your friends told you that everyone does it? Turns out, your friends are liars and now you’re going to be a daddy! Do you want a summer or fall wedding?’”  
I chuckle, imagining the horrified look that would appear on Michael’s face at the prospect of being a father.  
Soon our laughter dies out, however, and we are left in the silence of each other’s company.  
I stare out at the rows and rows of identical houses, like a never ending treadmill of suburban homes. As far as I can see, in every direction, houses are strewn like mountains, some with different-colored doors, and some with cracked paint, but all the same at their core. A beige house with a brown roof and a five-and-a-half foot fence surrounding the perimeter. Everyone I’ve ever been friends with, shared a class with, sold me something, has lived in a house that looks exactly like this. Most still do. No matter what makes us different or unique, we all have a rock that is one of those houses. I know that to my right, if you were to ever escape the labyrinth of houses, you would reach Boardwalk. The New Jersey Shore. And behind me, if you could escape that way, you’d find Salem, and the Delaware river, and something that would resemble civilization.  
This isn’t civilization.  
This is rats trapped in a well-organized cage.  
“What do you want to do with your life, Cas?” Hannah asks me hesitantly.  
I pause, for once unsure. What do I want to do? Eventually, after sifting through answers, I settle on one.  
“I want to do something.”  
Hannah nods. She knows what I mean.  
“I want to make something out of myself. I want to have a life. What about you?”  
Hannah’s answer isn’t what I expect.  
“I want to stop feeling sorry for myself for no reason.”  
I had expected her to say that she wants to help people, to change the world, to make a difference.  
“When do you feel sorry for yourself?”  
“I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself right now.”  
“But you have a reason to.”  
“Do I?”  
And then silence falls upon us once again, and I stare off into the moonlight—which is very quickly becoming sunrise. Colors are lazily thrown across the sky, lighting up our suburban wasteland. We’re all in shades of orange and pink now, the both of us.  
“What time is it?” Hannah asks me.  
I glance at my watch.  
“It’s 6:10.”  
“Time flies, eh? We should probably go back inside now.” Hannah starts to shuffle down towards the edge of the roof. She frowns up at me. “Aren’t you coming, Cas?”  
I shake my head. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”  
She shrugs and shimmies down the pipes back to her bedroom window, and I’m left all alone at the top of the world.  
What do I want to do?  
That’s the question.  
Realistically, I have no answer for that. I could go to Memphis and live in a hotel and write prose all day long. I could lock myself in my room until I’ve built my computer and refuse to talk to anyone and get my mother to pass me my dinner through a slot in my door. Hell, I could laze around in Dean’s bed forever, watching his eyes dart around the room.  
But most important in my list of impossible things that I could do: I could sit on this roof until I float off into the color-changing sky, into space.  
I think I’d like to do that.


	4. Get Numb

Tuesday 5th September, 1978

“I bet you can’t do a backflip off of it!” I challenged her, folding my arms.  
“Nuh-uh! I totally can, watch!” Hannah stepped towards the edge of the small wooden pier. She carefully leant forward, calculating her moves in her head, before turning around, grinning at me, and jumping off of it. She spun in the air, doing a—slightly clumsy—backflip before landing in the water with a splash and spraying me with foam.  
“See! Told you!” She proudly exclaimed, wiping the water out of her eyes before pumping her fist in victory.  
We were playing around at the pier on a summer day, the sun beating down on us. During the daytime the Boardwalk was mostly empty, the partying scene that I had yet to see only existing at night. It was pretty much a ghost town at ten in the morning, perfect for two kids who had nothing better to do than mess around. With a distracted wave of the hand and ‘yeah, sure’ from our father, we had taken it upon ourselves to take the bus to Boardwalk.  
“Now you have to.” Hannah grinned mischievously up at me.  
“Fine then, I’m not a scaredy cat,” I declared, copying her actions in standing facing the beach with my heels hanging off of the pier. I took a deep breath, before flinging myself off, flailing rather unceremoniously in the air before crashing down into the water, landing on my back.  
“Good job, Cas,” Hannah said sarcastically, sniggering.  
“Lay off, I wouldn’t have messed up if you hadn’t sabotaged me!” I spluttered.  
“And how exactly did I do that?”  
I responded by splashing her with water.  
“Hey!” she cried, returning the favor. All of a sudden it was a full on splash battle: the biggest event of my life, the one that every kid had been preparing for since they could, well, splash.  
“Hi, Hannah! Hi, Cas!” a high-pitched voice called from the beginning of the pier, diverting our attention away from the splash fight.  
The voice, it turned out, belonged to Adam, a kid on our block in the grade below me.  
Adam was skinny, with mousy brown hair, and a few inches shorter than me. That was saying something, considering I was pretty short as a kid. He was wearing dark green swimming trunks.  
“Hey, Adam!” we yelled back in unison, and Adam walked over to the edge of the pier, a few feet from where Hannah and I were swimming.  
“What are you guys doing?”  
“Dares. I dared Cas to do a backflip off the pier and he couldn’t.” She smiled, holding on to the edge of the pier and pointing at me with her thumb.  
“I bet I can!” Adam said confidently, taking the same position that me and Hannah took. He flew off, also flailing before splashing into the water. It wasn’t quite a backflip like Hannah’s was, but it wasn’t quite as bad as mine.  
“Okay then, my turn!” Adam exclaimed, the three of us now paddling in a circle.  
“I dare Hannah to… Grab a handful of sand from the bottom!”  
Hannah bit her lip, deciding whether or not to take on the dare. Where we were swimming, the bottom was a good 8 or 9 feet down.  
“I’ll do it,” she eventually said, before taking a gulping breath of air and diving down into the water, her feet kicking around where our knees were, propelling her further down.  
After ten seconds, she broke the surface again, gasping for air, spitting water out of her mouth, and shaking her head like a dog trying to dry itself off.  
“Didn’t manage, huh?” I said smugly, only for Hannah to lift her hand out of the water, displaying a lump of muddy sand.  
“I’m the queen of dares!” She grinned.  
“Fine, then!” I started, looking around to see possible dares. “I dare you to…” Suddenly I spotted it. A giant pile of metal piping; each pipe the size of a log, clumsily stacked on top of each other, towering 10 feet or more into the air. It was right by the shore, instead of the beach, so the water below it could be twenty feet deep. It was parts left over from when Wilson’s Convenience Store had been renovated a few weeks ago. A lot of the junk and debris hadn’t been cleared up yet, including the pile.  
“I dare you to jump off of that.” I said to Hannah, pointing at the hulking pile.  
“Nope, no way,” she said immediately, crossing her arms and shaking her head.  
“Why not? Are you too chicken?” I raised my eyebrows at her.  
“I’m scared of heights!”  
“Do you know what animal is scared of heights?”  
“Which one?”  
“A chicken!”  
“I’ll do it,” said a little voice; Adam. “I’m not a chicken.”  
I looked at him, surprised. Adam had a reputation for being a bit of a wimp, too scared to climb up walls to sit on them and to lie to grown-ups whenever we were doing something against the rules. He got made fun of by the other kids for it, sometimes including me, but I still hung out with him.  
“Adam, you don’t have to-“ Hannah started.  
“I’ll do it!” he interrupted, starting to clamber back onto the pier, skinny limbs struggling to lift himself up. He was easily the smallest kid on the block.  
We watched as Adam scampered up the pile, his shaking visible even from where we were, jumping a little every time a rusty pipe moved out of place slightly. The pile was unstable, and, whether or not our child brains wanted to admit it, damn dangerous.  
“Adam, come on, you’re not a chicken if you don’t jump!” Hannah yelled, concern in her voice.  
“I’m fine!” he replied, trying to smile despite his visible fear.  
“Just come back down! Please!” Panic was rising in Hannah’s voice.  
The situation was spinning wildly out of control and the realization was dawning upon me and Hannah. Adam wouldn’t be able to climb back down; the pipes were too shaky and unstable, and he couldn’t jump off; he was too high up. Adam, not wanting to be a chicken, ignored Hannah’s pleas and refused to admit it.  
“I’m not a scaredy cat!” he yelled desperately, edging towards the end of a pipe so that his toes were practically hanging off of it.  
"It's too dangerous! Get down!" Hannah called, her voice shaking as she attempted to clamber back onto the pier, her wet hands sliding off every time she tried to pull herself up.  
"I can do it!" Adam clenched his fists, seeming more terrified than determined, his whole body quivering as he leant over a little to glance into the black water.  
Hannah managed to crawl onto the pier, extending a hand to tug me up with her.  
"Adam!" Hannah shrieked, spinning around to look up at him. But it was already happening.; the disaster was already in motion.  
The next half-second lasted years.  
Adam flung himself off of the pile, skinny limbs flailing through the air.  
A high-pitched scream rippled through the Boardwalk.  
Hannah's gasp.  
The dull thud of his head smashing against a metal pipe.  
The crash of a ten year old boy hitting the water.  
The wind whistling.  
"Oh my-" Hannah cut herself off by diving into the water, splashing, ducking into the darkness to find him.  
"Cas, help me!" She screamed, sobbing, throwing herself back under the water.  
I stood there.  
I watched.  
My body wouldn't move- couldn't move.  
"What the Hell are you doing? Cas! Cas!" Hannah desperately pleaded with me, spitting out the mouthfuls of water every time she came up, gasping for air.  
I just stared on, blank-faced.  
There was blood in the water.  
Eventually I saw a skinny wrist clutched in Hannah's hands, as she fumbled and tried to drag the boy up. He was slipping through her grasp.  
She pulled him, dragged him, out onto the beach, still heaving as she struggled.  
"Adam! Adam!" Her voice cracked as she shook him, wiping tears off of her face.  
"Adam..." She leant over him, putting her face near his.  
"Oh, Jesus Christ, oh my God, oh fuck, fuck, fuck."  
Maybe it was the unfamiliar sound of my sister swearing that knocked me out of my frozen state.  
I ran over to where Hannah was still shaking Adam, her sobs returning.  
Oh God.  
Oh God.  
Adam's eyes were glazed over, half open and cold. His skinny arms were pale and wet. And his face.  
His face.  
Clots of blood oozed out of a large gash on the right side of his face, stretching from the corner of his mouth to his forehead, beads of blood rolling down his neck. His right eye was swollen and the skin around it was purple and yellow.  
Like vomit.  
His nose was bleeding, too. Bent to the side, broken.  
There was so much blood.  
Blood running over his lips, onto his gap tooth.  
Blood in his wet hair.  
Blood on Hannah's hands.  
"Cas, I think-" Hannah's voice broke again. "I think he's- I think-" she stuttered.  
Hannah's leant back away from him, sitting cross-legged on the beach, a hand still clutching his skinny wrist. Her other hand was over her mouth, muffling cries.  
I sat next to her, and let myself bawl, too.  
It was my fault.  
I gave him the dare.  
I watched him sink to the bottom, not moving.  
It was my fault.  
"What do we do?" I asked her, begging my big sister to fix the problem, just like she always did.  
"We- we- I don't know what we do," Hannah mumbled.  
I gave a heavy sigh, only to choke out a sob again.  
After a few minutes, Hannah began breathing deeply, and slowly let go of Adam's wrist. She stood up, still soaking wet, water dripping from her hair, and wiped her eyes.  
"Okay, Cas, I'm going to- I'm going to go and get help. You stay here." She walked away, shivering in her bathing suit, her feet bare.  
I watched Adam's face the whole time. I could see him accidentally crack a smile, before bursting out laughing and sitting up to laugh at us for getting fooled. I could see him wipe off the blood and lick it off his fingers, saying, "It's jam, see?" and dare me to do a handstand.  
What I couldn't see was the reality of his body lying limply on the sand.  
When Hannah came back with a convenience store owner behind her, she pulled me up and put an arm around me, turning me away from the body. She put the towel onto me, still wet herself, and made me sit down on a bench. All while the man called the police, and Mrs. Milligan, and some other people that I can't remember.  
It was just like Mary's death: a blur of people and questions and not knowing any answers.  
When they asked, I didn't tell them it was my dare.  
I didn't tell them that I didn't try to save him.  
Hannah didn't tell them either.  
The funeral was the worst part. Mrs. Milligan looked at me during her speech, tears in her eyes, peering into my soul. I started at the ground. She had first lost her husband, now her only son, and it was my fault.  
It may have been Hannah who had red stains on her fingers for the days after, but I was the one who went to bed with blood on my hands. 

Friday 6th November, 1983

My father is sleeping on the couch when I close the front door. He's been sleeping there every night since the big argument, and I haven't seen my mother look him in the eye since either. Things are going well in the Novak household.  
Hannah's staying home for the third week in a row since she can’t drink, and my father’s stopped seeing his girlfriend, leaving me as the only one who goes out on Fridays.  
I shove my hands into my jean pockets, watching my breath in the air. Jesus, it’s gotten cold early this year. Most of the trees are already losing their leaves, removing most of the color from the street in the evening light. As I reach the end of my driveway, I notice John Winchester’s Impala parked across the street, fog in the windows.  
“Dean?” I knock on the window when I reach the car. As it rolls down, I see Dean in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, with Meg riding shotgun.  
“It’s cold, get in! I want to close the window!” Jo shivers from the backseat. Jo moved to New Jersey from Texas eight years ago and hasn’t ever gotten used to the cold, unlike the rest of us have.  
I clamber into the backseat, behind Dean, where Jo and Gabe are already next sitting to each other. I don’t blame Jo for being cold; she’s in an ultra-short red dress in November.  
“I thought I was meeting you guys at your house,” I tell Dean as he peels away from the sidewalk and starts driving towards the Boardwalk.  
Dean’s hand tenses on the steering wheel at the same time as Jo digs her nails into the palm of her hand beside me. They’ve all gone quiet.  
Dean’s the first to break the silence. “My dad’s been… weird about you coming over. Because of the, y’know…” He trails off awkwardly; we all already know what he’s referencing. The news about Hannah got around the school quickly, after one of her friends couldn’t keep her mouth shut. No doubt it reached Sam’s ears, then accidentally slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. I scoff quietly to myself. The irony of John Winchester, parent of the year, not wanting me at his house. What does he think will happen? I’ll screw up his kids more than he already has?  
The silence returns and I keep my thoughts to myself.  
Meg taps on the window.  
Silence.  
Gabe coughs.  
Silence.  
Silence.  
I can’t take it.  
“I’m putting on music.” I say, leaning over, one arm rested on Dean’s seat as the other digs through a shoebox on the bench, trying to find a cassette that everyone’ll agree on. My fingers push past old tissues and candy wrappers, and I find myself hovering above my seat, having to lean even further forward to get to the cassettes at the back. My unused hand brushes against Dean’s shoulder and I hear a sharp intake of breath; barely audible. Things have been strange ever since last week. Whenever we’re alone, he’ll sometimes press a small kiss against my lips or a hand on the back of my neck, making my hairs stand up. When the others are around, though, he’s distant and on-edge. Maybe he’s scared they’ll find out and their opinions of him would change? What if Gabe decided that he couldn’t associate with a queer? Or worse, what if it got out?  
There are a lot of things to be scared of.  
Eventually, I manage to find something we all like, shoving the cassette into the player and slumping back into my seat. As soon as the first tinny notes ring out in the car, Meg’s hand goes to the player, holding down the fast forward. Jumbled sounds rush past until she hits the second song on the track.  
“Hey, what’d you do that for?” Jo pouts.  
Meg shrugs. “I like this one better.”  
The car descends into the darkness of the highway to the Boardwalk as Dean turns a corner, away from the suburbs.  
“I need someone, a person to talk to, someone who’d care to love, could it be you…”  
My stomach churns as the car zooms along: the music plays and I get this feeling in the back of my mind that nothing is alright right now.

***

“Oh, shit, ow—nope, that hurts.” Gabe winces in pain as he attempts to shift his neck from side to side and fails.  
“This probably isn’t a good time, but shitty idea.” Meg sighs and shakes her head knowingly. She takes another sip from her beer bottle.  
“It’s not my fault! Luke dared me to!”  
Dean tuts. “If Luke told you to jump off of a cliff-“  
Gabe cuts him off with a groan.  
We’re sitting by the stairs behind Harvey’s, watching Gabe desperately try to dislodge his head from between the railings of the banister. Some guy in the club had bet him $20 that he couldn’t, then abandoned him after he got stuck. He’s an idiot, but I feel bad for him sometimes.  
“Don’t be a dick, Dean.” Jo says quietly. We all glance up at her—even Gabe, who lets out a small, pained sound when he turns his head.  
“What’s up with you?” Meg asks, frowning. She looks almost concerned. Jo should be at the forefront of this crusade of making fun of Gabe.  
“Nothing. I just feel bad for him.” She shrugs and turns her attention to her feet, avoiding eye contact.  
“Someone’s got a crush on Captain Babyface over here,” Meg singsongs.  
“I can hear you-“  
Jo cuts him off. “Get lost, Meg.”  
Meg holds her hands up in defeat. “Jesus, chill out. Don’t get all pissy with me.”  
Jo’s head snaps back up to look at the brunette, brows furrowed in anger. “Why do you have to be such an asshole to everyone all the time? No one finds it cute, or funny, you’re just being a piece of shit!”  
Our eyes all widen as Jo’s voice hits a crescendo, becoming more shrill as she continues. Meg’s face is filled with hurt, as we all become suddenly aware that the joke is very much over.  
“So just eat shit!” Jo lets out, breathing deeply. Silence punctuates her rant as Meg does nothing to retaliate. We all just stand and stare at each other, wondering what’s supposed to happen next.  
“Ugh!” Gabe’s head pops out from between the railings and he stumbles backwards, hitting the wall behind him. He stares at Jo, also breathing deeply, unsure of what to say.  
Jo turns on her heel and runs back into the bar, the heavy metal door slamming behind her, clanging and echoing through the alleyway.  
“What the—“ Dean’s words are cut off by the door slamming once more, this time as Gabe dives past it, following Jo into the building.  
I stare at the floor.  
“Fuck,” Dean lets out, before sighing. “I’ve got to get another drink.”  
He disappears, too, leaving me and Meg alone.  
“Oh,” Meg says. She sits down on the stairs, all of a sudden looking so much smaller than usual.  
“She didn’t mean any of that.” I automatically come to Jo’s defence. “She’s just drunk, and in a bad mood and took it out on you!”  
“No, she did mean it” She takes another swig of her beer before putting her head between her hands. “I just didn’t think she would ever have the guts to tell me.”  
She chuckles.  
“You think you know a girl.”  
I sit down next to her, wrapping my arm around her. “Come on, that’s not Jo. You’ve been friends for almost three years, and that’s not her.”  
Meg is silent for a bit, before she whispers something.  
“I know your secret, Cas.”  
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused. I’ve been keeping so many secrets recently, they’re getting hard to keep track of.  
“I know that you’re a queer, and that you and Dean are, y’know.”  
My heart skips a beat as I sharply inhale. How could she know? I was so careful; we were so careful—  
“I’ve been wondering ever since that night a couple weeks ago when we played never have I ever. And then on Halloween you guys were acting super-weird. A while after you left, I drove home too, and gave this girl Eva a ride home—her house is a block away from yours—and passed your house. I saw Dean climbing out, figured it was nothing special, but then you leaned out, too, and kissed him. I damn near drove into a fire hydrant.” She gives a small laugh. “After that, it was obvious. You two shared all of these looks and sideways glances, and you’d make goo goo eyes at each other.”  
“So do you hate me?” I ask cautiously.  
She snorts before bursting out laughing, swinging an arm around me. “Come on, Cas, it’s not 1953. Of course I don’t hate you! You’re still Cas, and you’re still a fucking weirdo, but not because of that.”  
I give a small laugh and pull her in closer to me. All this time I’ve been so afraid, and for what?  
She’s Meg, and I’m Cas, and it’ll always be like that.  
“Okay, I’ve got to go talk to some people.” Meg stands up and brushes the dirt off of her from sitting on the steps  
“Jo?” I ask hopefully.  
Meg snorts once more. “Nah, Gabe’s probably got her. I doubt it’d do her any good to see me right now. I’ve got something I need to do.” She opens the door, and music and chattering flood out.  
“What’s that?” I ask her.  
Meg calls out her answer back to me as she disappears into the bar, and I’m left on my own with nothing but my beer bottle and her words.  
Get numb.

***

Have you ever tried taking a walk? Sometimes when it’s all too much, all you’ve got to do is take a walk.  
Well, that and a couple more beers.  
That’s exactly what I’m doing: stumbling down a backstreet of Boardwalk, on my own, with no idea where the others are.  
I stop when I reach the bench where I saw my father kissing the blonde and shove my free hand into my pocket; the other’s holding my beer.  
I spit on it.  
It’s the bench’s fault, really. If it hadn’t been comfortable, they wouldn’t have sat down here and could have continued their affair without a nosy teenage son ruining it.  
I’m blaming a bench for my parents’ failing marriage.  
Oh, wow, am I drunk.  
Eventually, as I continue my walk, I hear a voice. A voice that I recognize.  
“I don’t know what happened, I just— I just freaked out on her.”  
Jo.  
She’s leaning against the back wall of a building around the corner from where I was walking. Gabe is standing in front of her, arms crossed.  
I duck back behind the other side of the building, perpendicular with my friends. They haven’t seen me.  
“Hey, it’s not your fault. Look at me.” Gabe’s voice is soft, gentler than I’ve ever heard him speak before.  
“Did you see the look on her face? It was like I’d just slapped her. God, I’m such a bitch.” Jo’s voice is a little muffled, like she’s crying.  
There’s the sound of shuffling, and Jo lets out a sob.  
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re not a bitch.”  
I carefully peek my head around the corner to watch the scene. Gabe’s arms are wrapped around Jo as she buries her face into his chest. His face is pressed into her hair, his eyes closed. It’s weird, I’ve never seen emotion like that in Gabe before. Every time Gabe’s ever been this close to a girl, aside from his mom and Meg, he’s had his hand on her ass.  
I duck back behind the wall, not wanting to risk his eyes opening and seeing me watching them. It’s so intimate, they might as well be naked.  
When Jo’s sobbing stops, Gabe’s voice comes out light-hearted.  
“So do you have a crush on me?” he jokes, but Jo doesn’t laugh.  
“I thought you’d make fun of me.”  
They both go entirely silent.  
“Cas?” a voice says from behind me, and I have about six heart attacks at once.  
“Shut up.” I grab the speaker—Dean—and slam him against the wall with me, covering his mouth with my hand.  
Dean gives a muffled “Umph!” and I hold my breath, waiting for Gabe and Jo to turn the corner and find me here, eavesdropping.  
I wait.  
Nothing.  
Nothing?  
I cautiously glance towards them, barely sticking my head out behind the bricks, and it becomes obvious why they didn’t hear Dean.  
Jo and Gabe are kissing, her hands hanging around his neck, his on her waist, both of their eyes closed. Eventually they separate, staring at each other. I don’t know who kissed who, and it almost appears they don’t know, either.  
Jo mumbles something inaudible, and Gabe lets out a small laugh. Within ten seconds, they’re walking away, back towards the entrance of the bar, whispering things I can’t hear, and I can finally let myself breathe.  
I turn back to Dean, only to notice that my hand is still over his mouth and the other arm is pinning him down against the wall. We both stare at my hand for a while, looking from it, to each other, to the hand again; back and forth.  
“Sorry,” I say eventually, pulling it away and shoving it into my pocket. Jesus, it’s hot.  
“So, that was…” Dean trails off, unsure of himself.  
“Jo and Gabe.” I nod.  
“And they were… kissing?”  
“Mhm,” I hum.  
“Well,” Dean starts, looking taken aback. “That is- that is cool with me.”  
I chuckle under my breath, almost as shocked as Dean. Gabe—whose motivations in life are so base he might as well just be a dick—and Jo, who’s repulsed by his every action.  
Huh.  
Meg was right. You think you know people.  
“Well look at those two, finally settling down,” I comment, trying to make a joke.  
When I turn to Dean, though, his eyes are dark. He’s gone entirely serious.  
“What are you doing?” I mumble, as Dean tangles one hand in my hair. He’s staring at my lips.  
“Returning the favor,” he replies, and I don’t have enough time to ask what he means before I’m slammed against the wall, Dean pressing against me. I give a surprised squeak as Dean kisses me, the millisecond I open my mouth enough for him to have his tongue touching mine.  
I can hardly move with Dean’s body holding me in place, one hand in my hair, the other roaming around my body.  
My hips buck involuntarily at Dean’s touch and I let out a groan. I can almost feel Dean’s smug smirk against my lips; he loves knowing what he does to me.  
I gasp as Dean fists my hair, pulling just hard enough for it to tug my head back. Dean’s mouth flies to my neck and I try to hold back a loud moan. Now his other hand is on my dick and my knees are shaking so much, his body holding me in place is the only reason I’m still standing. The hand in my hair slides down my face, now covering my mouth, muffling my groans as his mouth works on my neck.  
He really is returning the favor.  
My vision starts to break apart, a feeling rising up through my stomach, up to my chest, pressing against my ribcage. My hips shudder forward at the same time my head is thrown even further back, I’m so close, so fucking—  
“Hey, Dean!” a voice calls out and Dean rips himself from me, breaking away and stumbling back onto the sand, eyes darting around, looking for the owner of the voice like a rabbit caught in headlights.  
Meg has rounded the corner and is now standing twelve feet away, watching us desperately try to clean ourselves up. Dean’s face is red and blotchy and I can assume mine is, too, based on Meg’s raised eyebrow.  
She turns to Dean. “Chill out, man. I know.”  
Dean’s eyes grow wide. “You know?” He turns to me, alarmed. “She knows?”  
I nod and shrug.  
“Oh.” Dean says. It’s been a night of revelations for him. “How—“  
“Not important,” Meg interrupts him, pulling a small bag out of her pocket and dangling it in front of him. “What is important, is this.”  
I squint at the bag, trying to decipher what it is, before it hits me.  
Weed.  
“Dude, where’d you get this?” Dean grabs the bag, examining it. He’s grinning.  
“A guy I know owes me a favor. Figured we could both use something to help us along tonight.”  
Both. Oh.  
“I guess I’m not involved in this,” I mumble.  
Meg gives a surprised laugh, and Dean looks puzzled, too. “Do you want to be?” she asks.  
Maybe it’s the beer, but I can’t help but feel left out. Meg offered it to Dean, not me. They don’t want me here.  
I shrug, annoyed. “Nah, you guys do whatever you want. I’ve got to go.” I take off, rounding the corner before either can say anything. They don’t want me? Well, I don’t want them.

***

As I head back into the bar, I notice Jo and Gabe sitting together in one of the booths. Gabe’s denim jacket is around her shoulders, and our pile of coats and purses is on the bench opposite them. I ignore my friends, hoping they won’t notice me. I don’t want to be around anyone right now.  
I stumble into the men’s bathroom, kicking open the door. I stop at a sink, one hand on either side of it, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is tousled and sticking up at every angle, my eyes tired and bloodshot. My face is red and blotchy, my lips puffy.  
I’m growing up to be very handsome, indeed.  
I splash water on my face, once, twice, again and again until water runs down from my chin, over the hickey Dean left on my neck, into my shirt. God, is it hot in here?  
“Oh, fuck, man, we’re so screwed.” The door to one of the stalls bursts open and two guys stumble out. I raise my eyebrows at them, wondering if the situation has anything in common with my last experience in a toilet stall with another man.  
One of the guys notices my look. They’re about my age, probably a little younger, both skinny and covered in acne.  
“Did you think we were—oh! No, no way! We were doing drugs, I promise!” he stutters out, reddening.  
“Dude, what are you doing!” says the other one, starting to freak out.  
I snort, watching them bicker.  
“He thought we were queers!”  
The second one’s eyes widen. He turns to me. “We’re not queers! I swear I’m not a fag! We were doing drugs!”  
“Please don’t arrest us!”  
I watch them for a while, considering pretending to be a cop just to freak them out. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to.  
“I’m not a cop,” I eventually decide. “What are you taking?”  
They both let out deep sighs, relaxing once they know that they’re not going to prison.  
“LSD,” says the first one. “It makes you—“  
“I know what LSD is.”  
I look back at the bathroom door. Behind it are Jo and Gabe, who are apparently doing great in life. Past that, behind the back wall of the building, are Meg and Dean, who have decided that they don’t need me.  
Get numb?  
Fuck it.  
“Give me some and I won’t report you,” I state blandly.  
The two return to their state of panic. “Are you trying to blackmail us?”  
“Does it matter?” I shrug.  
“No way!” spits out the taller one, who first spoke to me.  
“Okay, then,” I shrug once more, making my way out of the bathroom. “They’re going to love you in prison.”  
Just as I’m about to open the door, the shorter one grabs my arm. “Fine.”  
“Dude—“  
“Do you want to go to prison, man? I can’t get into Princeton with a criminal record!” He turns to me. “Here, just be careful. It makes you do dumb shit.”  
Perfect.  
He hands me a hot pink tab, no bigger than my fingernail, and I examine it. What’s the worst something this tiny could do?  
Staring at myself in the mirror, I slowly place the little piece of paper under my tongue.  
“Thanks,” I call out behind me as I head out of the bathroom, back into the bar where music reaches my ears once again. I slump down on a stool, focusing on the feeling under my tongue.  
What now?  
I glance at my watch. 10:15.  
The next few minutes I spend in silence: watching people enter and exit the bar, watching the digital numbers transform on my wrist. 10:32. 10:54. 11:07. Has it been almost an hour already?  
“Hey, can I get a beer?” I ask the bartender. As soon as he turns to me, he gives a small laugh.  
“You on acid?” he asks, putting a pint glass under the tap.  
“How could you tell?” There’s a pleasant glow around him. I can see the air vibrate near his mouth when he laughs.  
“Your eyes.”  
I watch my reflection in the beer he places in front of me. My pupils are huge and swollen, dilated to the point that I can hardly see the blue in my eyes.  
“Huh.”  
“Watch out, though. I had a buddy who took it back in ’79, and he caught his best friend sleeping with his girlfriend. He started seeing all this disturbing shit. You’ve got to be happy,” he warns me before turning to serve another customer.  
I am happy.  
Watching those two guys bicker over being queers or drug dealers was pretty fun.  
I am happy.  
I watch a girl dancing. Whenever her long, blonde hair flips, streaks of color fly out into the air, whirring out of control before dissolving.  
11:38.  
People move in slow motion, their clothes floating around them.  
11:51.  
Drops of spilt beer on the bar in front of me zoom and shift, making patterns on the wood.  
00:00.  
I glance over at Jo and Gabe. They’re laughing as Jo attempts to toss mini pretzels into his mouth, cheering and clapping when he succeeds.  
Suddenly, I hear a smash. I glance down at myself, and see shards of glass spread out across my lap, the scent of alcohol in the air as it drenches my jeans. My hands are still hovering, holding an imaginary glass.  
That was me.  
I carefully reach towards my lap, picking up a piece, only to hiss and drop it again as a sharp pain stings my hand. I draw my fingers back, staring at my index one where there’s a deep gash. Blood oozes from the cut, trickling down my wrist. I must have grabbed it much harder than I thought.  
My vision goes black.  
My lungs fill with water.  
I gasp for air, desperately attempting to keep my head above sea level as salty waves crash against my ears, choking me—  
I’m back in the bar.  
“You okay?” the bartender asks, his voice echoing, playing in different frequencies in my head.  
It’s black again.  
I’m drowning, water is sucked into my nose, making me splutter—  
“You okay?”  
The bar.  
Black.  
Gasping.  
“You okay?”  
Bar.  
Gasping.  
Black.  
“You okay?”  
“You okay?”  
“You okay?”  
The bar.  
I’m staring at my finger again, feeling the cold beer seep through denim, onto my legs.  
“Something is very wrong!” I yell.  
I stand up, glass shattering onto the floor. There’s a shape moving along the wall—a shadow, speeding across it. I spin around wildly, but it always moves out of my vision before I can see its identity.  
It’s following me.  
“Who are you?” I ask.  
The shadow gives a small laugh, disappearing again.  
“I’m batman!” it replies, sliding onto the floor, zigzagging between people’s feet. I jump out of the way and crash into a bar stool as I narrowly avoid it.  
“What are you doing?” I plead, my voice raspy, my hands slick with sweat.  
“I don’t know. I was bored.”  
A footstep appears on the floor, breaking through wooden floor boards, then another, another, another, coming towards me.  
I have to leave.  
It’s after me.  
“Get away!” I yell.  
“Nah.”  
I stumble towards Jo and Gabe, who have only just noticed me. “Guys, I need your help—“  
“Jesus Christ, Cas, are you okay?” Jo grabs my arm, a concerned look on her face. I jump back at her touch. A hole has burnt through my sleeve, singed fabric exposing my skin. Jo’s hand is black and blistered, the blotches spreading up her arm, her neck, her face. Her blonde locks disintegrate, leaving only the smell of burning hair.  
“I need— I need—“  
“Get your ass up here!”  
I panic, stumbling away from their table. I need to get away. My vision finds the piles of coats and purses. I dig through it, only to find them melting in my hands. They pool on the floor, liquefied. I continue to dig. The pile seems endless.  
I find what I’m looking for in the form of Dean’s leather jacket, desperately cradling it in my arms as it melts. Gabe is grabbing me, his touch burning just as much as Jo’s. I spin around and my fist collides with his nose, and I hiss and scream as my hand turns red with blisters. Gabe is swearing and holding his face in black hands. Other people have started to notice the commotion, grabbing me with hands clad in yellow rubber, and I desperately shove them away, clinging to the leather jacket. I burst through the door, cold air soothing my burns.  
“Let me the Hell in!” The voice shrieks, feet slamming behind me and shadows darting up every wall I pass.  
When I reach the Impala, I dig through the jacket’s pockets, searching for the keys, tossing handfuls of sand out of every pocket I stick my fingers into. Eventually I find them, seizing the metal and unlocking the car, shoving them into the ignition. I dump the jacket out of the window; it’s nothing more than a puddle now.  
I have to get someplace safe.  
I clutch the steering wheel as I speed off, the pounding of the footsteps still audible behind me. I make a sharp turn, hearing people yell curses at me as they jump out of the way, but I don’t care. I’ve hit the highway.  
The road in front of me is dark, the lights of Boardwalk behind me, and the lights of the suburbs far ahead. I get a glance at my watch. 00:24.  
“Be careful.”  
“Huh-“ I cut off my own words with a shriek as I swerve to dodge someone. Who the hell is standing on the highway at midnight?  
A skinny kid, soaking wet.  
“Oh, fuck, oh fuck.” I mumble to myself. I missed him by a hair.  
“Are you a chicken?”  
“Stop it!” My voice breaks as I swerve to avoid the kid again. He keeps appearing on the road in front of me, watching with apprehensive eyes.  
“Watch out.”  
I spend the drive sobbing and dodging skinny limbs, the shriek of the tires squealing the only thing louder than the steps that chase me down the highway.

***

I stop the car at Dean’s house. It’s safe. Sam’s at a sleepover and John’s out. I can’t go home and put Hannah in danger. It would get her. I have to protect her.  
The backdoor slams behind me, echoing in the empty house. I fly up the stairs, into Dean’s room. It looks so cold when there’s not a teenage boy in it.  
“Well, look who came crawlin’ back.”  
The shadow darts around, landing on the mirror, before smashing it. Metal falls to the ground, turning to blue china. I stumble out of the room, and find myself staring at the door that I’ve been so desperate to get away from for weeks. John’s room.  
If it’s the only safe place, then that’ll have to be it.  
I cautiously enter the bedroom. It looks just like it did last time. I lean over and open the bedside drawer.  
This is the only way.  
I have to protect myself.  
My hand finds the cold metal and I clutch it, my entire arm shaking. I glance around the room and my eyes settle on a hiding place I’ve known since I was a child.  
The closet.  
With the gun in one hand, I begin to toss clothes out of it, clambering in. I press my back against a shelf, maneuvering to allow my feet to fit in with me. I slide the door shut, enclosing myself in the pitch black.  
01:13.  
I sob for minutes, hours, years, I can’t even tell, with the gun under my chin, finger on the trigger.  
“Don’t be scared!”  
“Why not?” I gasp.  
No answer.  
01:51.  
02:28  
02:57.  
“Cas?” I gasp as the door bursts open and Dean’s voice fills my ears. I let out another sob.  
The door to the closet opens slowly, and light fills the room. Dean is crouching in front of me, Meg standing a little behind him.  
“Cas, it’s okay—“ Dean stops when he notices the handgun pressed against my head. I shudder, tears still streaming down my face.  
“Can I touch you?” Dean asks, his voice steady. He shows me his hands, proving that they’re empty. There’s a quiver in his voice. He’s shaking.  
I nod.  
As he leans closer to me, moving slowly, I notice that something’s off. Blood is trickling down his forehead.  
That’s not Dean.  
I remove the gun from my head and look at it, then him, then it, before holding it up. His eyes widen in fear as I hold him at gunpoint, and he stumbles back, away from me. Meg puts her hands up.  
“You’re with them. You’re trying to get me.” I accuse him, standing up and walking towards them, the gun still pointed at them.  
“Cas, we don’t want to hurt you.” Dean tries to say calmly, but tears are silently dripping down his face.  
“You’re not Dean and Meg!” I yell, looking between the two of them.  
“We’re your friends!” Meg’s also in tears, her voice quaking.  
I don’t know what to do. Every instinct in my body hisses at me to pull the trigger, to save myself, to save the real Dean and Meg, except Dean’s eyes are pleading, begging me to have mercy.  
“Fuck!” I scream, slamming my free hand against the wall. Meg flinches.  
I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I’m so fucking scared, I’m just a kid, I don’t know what to do—  
“Shut up!” I yell at my thoughts, pressing my hands to my temples, scrunching my eyes closed.  
"When I was a kid, there was this thing in the attic, like this metal pole."  
Shut up, shut up, shut up—  
"It was like a support beam or something.”  
No, no, no, no, no, no—  
“If it broke or bent or anything, the whole house would fall down."  
I’m just a kid, I’m just—  
"I feel like that sometimes."  
Nothing is okay, nothing—  
"Like if I bend or break, everything's going to fall down.”  
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—  
Let it fall down, I want to break, I want to break—  
I lift the gun in the air, I aim at the attic—  
I’m just a kid—  
If I aim it right—  
Fuck, fuck—  
I shoot.  
Black.  
Gasping.  
“You okay?”


	5. Napoleon v. The Beetle

Sunday 1st January, 1984

I watch as Napoleon darts back and forth, pouncing at ants as they scramble away, trying to reassemble their line. His ears twitch as he spots a fat beetle blundering across one of the stairs of the back porch. Going still, crouching low, he focuses on his prey. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.  
Jump.  
The beetle is crushed and Napoleon toys with it playfully, proud of himself for the catch. I scratch the top of his head and the kitten purrs gratefully. We seem to be getting along rather well, he and I.  
Napoleon is only one of the many changes that have occurred since what happened in November. Everything kind of went to Hell for a while there.  
I don’t remember all that much, but various people—witnesses—have been helping me to piece it all together. No one is entirely sure what went wrong in my brain that Friday night, the night that I’m certain neither I nor any of my friends will ever forget about. Dr. Jenkins thinks that it was drug-induced temporary psychosis, Dr. German thinks it was a nervous breakdown, Dr. Ramsey thinks it was a psychotic episode, and my mother thinks that it’s puberty. That’s what she told our extended family, at least, when I was in the hospital for six weeks.  
That hospital.  
It was unlike any hospital I’d been to before. It was filled with kids, just like me, who’d done things, just like me. They all had something going on in their brains that wasn’t right, so of course my little incident meant that I fit in perfectly. It was strange: being there, talking to doctors everyday, group therapy, swallowing pills like breath mints. They found my journal, too, when they were searching my room.  
Of course, they told my parents everything. About Mary and Adam, the acid, the bathroom stall in The Blue Velvet.  
Not a single detail of my life was left untouched as they combed through the evidence, raking every secret I had every dared to keep and proudly spilling them out to my parents in a meeting.  
My father didn’t visit for three weeks after he found out about what happened with Dean. He still has yet to mention it to me.  
Those visits, though, were the only things keeping me alive. Gabe and Jo both brought me books, cassette tapes, and their company. Hannah came, too, and we’d sit in silence and stare at each other for forty-five minutes. She’d sneeze. I would say bless you. We’d hug. She’d go home. Wash, rinse, and repeat.  
My mother pretended that everything was normal: chattering about her book club, the weather, the fucking TV shows she had watched. Once I asked her if she hated me and she replied, very diplomatically, that no, she was just disappointed. That made me laugh. She clearly hadn’t learnt her lesson.  
If you bend a kid, they will break, no matter how many times you swear that it is only making them more flexible.  
They let me go home on the 23rd of December, just in time for Christmas. We all had dinner together on Christmas Eve, which I am sure will go down as one of the worst family dinners in history.  
A cheating father, heartless mother, pregnant daughter, psychotic son, and a partridge in a goddamn pear tree.  
It was passive aggressiveness at its finest. Trust the Novak family to turn ’pass the brussel sprouts’ into a scathing insult.  
And like a good family, we went to Church the next morning.

I don’t know how to tell my mother that I don’t believe in God.

I turn my attention back towards the kitten in front of me. We are similar in many ways, Napoleon and I. We exist to give comfort to others. We provide services.  
“Hey, Novak.”  
I get two visits on the first day of 1984. This is the first.  
“You came to see me.” I reply, not bothering to turn around to see the owner of the voice, who is standing behind me.  
“I missed you. It’s been a while.” Meg sits down next to me hesitantly. Maybe she was told about my medical reports, and thinks I’m going to snap and hit her.  
“Almost two months.” I nod awkwardly, turning to face her. She looks different. Her hair is longer.  
“School’s been weird without you. No one knows what happened to you.” We’re speaking in short sentences, attempting to cut ourselves off because we don’t know what to say. What is there to say? The last time I saw her, she was the view from the back of a police car. The last time I saw her, I pulled a gun.  
“I’m probably going to fail my exams when I get back.”  
We both watch Napoleon scurry across the frozen grass, our breaths visible in the air. A layer of frost hangs over the entire backyard.  
Meg sighs audibly. “Listen, there’s something you should know. I… I really liked you. I still do, sort of.”  
And there it is. Maybe, in some way, I’d been hoping to hear her say that since I was fourteen, but things are different now. I’m different now.  
“But,” she continues, “I know that you don’t like me. You like Dean.”  
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unsure of what I’m apologizing for. It’s hard to keep track, when I’ve screwed her over so many times.  
Meg still doesn’t look me in the eye, hair hanging over her face, hiding her from me.  
“Yeah, you really fucked me up, man. And when you kissed me on Halloween? That was a really shitty thing to do.” Meg sniffs, pulling her arms tighter around herself in the cold.  
“I know, and this is all my fault,” I agree. There’s not much I can do aside from accept my mistakes.  
“It kind of is,” she whispers.  
Meg stands up and leaves, just like that.  
She doesn’t even say goodbye.  
The second visit that I get arrives with an equally hesitant, equally familiar voice. Dean ruffles my hair as he sits down. Just like Meg, he looks different. Older. I can swear that I see some stubble on his chin.  
“Meg hates me,” I declare, before he can even say hello. This is also the first time I’ve seen either of them since November. The doctors didn’t want me to come into contact with anyone involved in the incident, or maybe my mother bribed them. She probably thinks they’re bad influences, the druggie and the queer kid. Now it appears that I am both.  
“She called me last night. Told me that she was angry at you. I don’t think she hates you. I don’t think she can hate you.” He shakes his head.  
“And you?” I ask, tempting fate.  
Dean carefully places a hand onto my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. I instinctively lean in, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. When he replies, his breath is warm.  
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, and oh.  
Oh.  
Suddenly a thought occurs to me: my life was never going to work out how I planned it. The world is not neat enough for me to be blessed with a PhD, a wife, and three kids, all wrapped up cleanly, with a bow on top. Apparently, as it turns out, my life has been slapped together with duct tape and leftover Christmas wrapping paper.  
“I think I love you, too,” I reply, and Napoleon rips a blade of dead grass from the hard ground.  
So maybe I’m behind in school. So maybe my sister is pregnant and hasn’t made up her mind about it. So maybe my parents are talking to their divorce lawyers. So maybe it’s not the drugs’ fault that I freaked out, and it was inevitable.  
So maybe I like boys.  
Nothing is turning out the way I planned and my life is spiraling out of control. But with Dean’s arm reaching around me gingerly, I decide that some things are simply out of my control. Some things are destined to happen, whether or not you planned for them.  
And maybe, just maybe, that is okay.


	6. Notes and Thanks

I did it, mum! Are you proud of me? 

First off, I would like to thank the Academy for this award.   
No but seriously, thank you to my wildly talented artist, Soph AKA idjitsaviors (I mean did you see that art??? How??? It’s not fair, she’s a good person AND she draws well jfc leave some for the rest of us). Thank you for putting up with my inability to reply to emails and last minute epilogues.   
Another thank you to Emily AKA captainhaterade, my beta, for fixing all of my mistakes and removing my constant unnecessary commas. Honestly, she’s the only reason this makes any sense whatsoever.   
The biggest thank you of all to the new mods of the DCBB, Jojo and muse, who are doing a great job at managing everything and being the only reason we even have a DCBB. No idea how they do all this and keep sane, I’m guessing crystal meth.  
And last, but not least, thank you to anyone that has read, bookmarked, commented on, or gave kudos to any of my works. Writing is honestly my favourite thing to do and knowing that someone out there bothered to read my work is the best feeling of all. So [insert cheesy thank you here]. 

Okay so some little fun facts about this as a reward for anyone who actually clicked on the ‘notes and thanks’ chapter, the backbone of this fucking nation.  
-Cas’ mum and dad are based on Naomi and Chuck, respectively.   
-Gabe has an earring throughout all of this. Googling ‘young Richard Spleight Jr’ will give you an idea of what I was going for. DOES HE NOT ALSO LOOK WEIRDLY LIKE BO BURNHAM IN SOME OF THEM THOUGH.  
-The song they listen to in the car in the final chapter is “Kiss Off” by the Violent Femmes. It is from their self-titled album, released in 1983. As well as being one of my favourite songs of all time, the beginning has always sounded very ominous and creates this bizarre feeling of dread, to me at least.  
-In the first chapter, the characters refer to GRIDs. This stood for Gay-related Immune Deficiency, which was the name used to refer to AIDs in the early days of the crisis.  
-They also mention the Roe v. Wade case. This was a landmark court case on the issue of abortion.  
-At some point just before the events of the first chapter, Gabe claimed to have snorted cocaine (which actually turned out to be a mixture of baking powder and flour) Nevertheless, he told Meg, and this is what Cas and Meg are discussing when they go to buy cigarettes.  
-I won’t tell you whether or not Hannah had the baby. What I will tell you is that she went on to go to Harvard Law School.  
-Cas’ father and mother got divorced in March of 1984. His father moved to Ohio, and refused to see Hannah or Cas for several years. Neither had the desire to see him.  
-Cas moved to New York after graduating university.  
-Cas is forty five years old when gay marriage is legalized in New York.   
-And yes, they do end up together.


End file.
